the winter wind bites
makes no sound
except through my bamboo
the only leaves left
I see limbs bend and move
I listen for their aches n groans
(as in my bones)
the grass is stopped
frozen
even the sun-
even the sun is drained
bright, illuminated on surfaces
but cold
as if the moon had a forest – once
slowly exhaling
inside, so quiet now
so many voices
but so quiet now
the isolation of flame
so gather
the few that remain,
huddle, huddle with me
Shades of My Garden 
Beautiful poetry ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
thanks, it is the reality of my now, however that comes across I post it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This comment will surely resonate with many. All the more so these days.
Your poem spoke of musings that folk outside the world of poetry express in other ways. Keep on writing. I always enjoy your work
LikeLike