Holly

Swallows fled with the fading light,
skies are stern and the sun lies low.
Fields are bare, the oak tree stripped.
Only the larch casts a golden glow.
But the holly is green, its berries red,
robin and blackbird will still be fed.

Hedgerow grows thin, old fox grows lean,
dormouse and hedgehog are fast asleep.
With winter’s fist now tightening,
rabbits and moles are dug down deep.
But the holly is green, its berries red,
wood mice and squirrels will still be fed.

North wind blows on a withered world.
Wild geese cry as the frost bites hard.
Shadows deepen, snowflakes fall,
till snow has smothered the hill and yard.
But the holly is green, its berries red,
thrushes and redwings will still be fed.
While holly is green and its berries red,
hungry creatures will still be fed.