I see the patience of Chinars in winter.
Their autumn flames doused, their trampled leaves
lying flat on sidewalks like crushed fists.
I see the resilience of men, clearing paths with shovels,
making their way through frozen snow.
The songs stuck in their throats overpowered
by the symphony of falling snowflakes.
Yet, the lyrics unforgotten,
whispered every now and then,
from old chapped lips
to young frostbitten ears.
Preserved for the summer sun
to find them again.