Down in the valley, the beautiful valley
All covered in snow--glistening in scarce sun
The white, wintry weather hath bles’t it with allure
Woodland critters frigid still come and rest
And converse happily as they admire the scene
Chattering chirpily, animatedly
Like a group of old women reminiscing as they play a weekly game of bridge
Remembering fondly a better time

Down in the valley, the wondrous valley
Laughing and grinning ‘neath the ashen gray skies
The withered, white oaks, despite their condition
Despite the harsh cold, and their advancing age
Sway to and ‘fro, like aficionados
Of classical music--calmly enjoying Nature’s song

Down in the valley, the snow-glutted valley
Like tiny, white dancers, the flakes flutter down
They twist and they twirl, they spin and they swirl
Wind pushes them gently, turning dance to disarray
And the precious, pretty flakes fall dead to the ground

Down in the valley, the icy, old valley
Whose freezing white blanket lays the dying to rest--
The green grasses (now brown), vibrant flowers--
The children of spring
No longer can they bawl--nor smile, blink, nor think!
So full of frigid, frosty white
They suffocate beneath the bitter shroud of snow
Buried in unmarked graves

Down in the valley, the horrible valley
Wherein exists no joy, only dismal familiarity
Where nightmares be brought to life and manifested
Though its inhabitants, in denial, still continue to smile
Accepting what they cannot change
Though, beneath this affable façade, they weep
The trees, wrinkled, pale, sway on still--
Cloaking clandestine grief
And Papa Squirrel scarcely scavenges
To reassure his family that food is abundant
Though their bellies growl
Like moths to a lamppost, they huddle around
A lone acorn--the day’s take
And Papa Squirrel grins, chipper as ever
Refusing to eat, for his famished children
Quietly, he dies as they sleep

Down in the valley, the murderous valley
Where flora and fauna all suffer alike
But benevolently bear this burden
Hopeful they are, that the landscape will soon change
That their white cage shall dissolve
And they will be finally freed
That the petulant sun will return once again
And the Man in the Moon will brighten the night
Until the day, they live like prisoners
Starving but strong, struggling to survive
Down in the valley, the bitter, cold valley