The Wintering Time

Trapped within walls of spidery bark
Dwarfing the stonework of tenebrous night
We rap upon darkness leaving our mark
thrashes and gropes for heavenly light.
But chilly is the air that flows through our yard
Scraping its nails up our corpulent sides.
And deeper we drink of ichors unmarred
Bloated with secrets the terra confides.
For under our beacons of earthly retreat
Reposed within beds, blanketed in snow
We feast upon those resting not but six feet,
Sleepers to a dream we all shall soon know.