The big clock struck one,
another year has passed on,
but he is still here.
He’s counting the years,
more in memories than years,
and there are many.
The cat licked her paw,
nonchalantly but watchful,
and ready to pounce.
Reaching tenderly,
as not wanting to offend,
with her claws ready.
The winds swirled the snow,
as they all looked for shelter,
on the mountain side.
The sound of its wings,
can’t be heard as it’s so sift,
flying tree to tree.
