In the wood, the solemn place
Where the trees fallen don’t permit
Snowfall to get deep
The gentle moans of cub
Waking, from her sleep
Covered in a blanket
Of freshly fallen snow,
So cold, so pure,
Covers where she laid
She shakes her head
Sprays off the flakes
And hops across the floor
Of the forest white
And hunts for food
To celebrate the day.
