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stuck to listen
She sometimes listens
But most never understands
She clambers down my roots with spindly arms and fingers
She puts one ear to the ground only to find the grass is frosty cold
Each blade frosty, chillingly tickles her listeners
And a beetle whispers coos and carols to her
She feels a need to see, to understand
She turns her face to the moon
Only to find that clouds do cover
Only to find the are sickeningly unbearable
Only to turn her head back and lay her ear down flat to the frosty floor and listen to young beetle coo and carol

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