There Is a Season 

This brutal winter, ice, and snow,
deer, once again, assault the holly,
two shrubs planted long ago, each
winter ravaged, branches stripped,
bright berries scattered, sharp leaves 
chewed, though this dark season,
damage spreads, twigs gnawed to 
stubs, trunks crooked, crack, and 
we are old, the two of us, like holly, 
growing side by side, forgetful, frail, 
vision dimmed, but over time, and 
underground, roots dig deep, expand, 
entwine, each moment precious, sound, 
scent, sight, and in spring light, green 
shoots emerge, fragile, tender, hopeful, 
new.