High falls

I was not confident in the winter that told me: I will now gather firewood, your rib.. I thought winter was stubborn from its weakness at the trembling line.. and I saw it as humiliating.. knocking on your eyes' windows to contain me.. and you looking at it with a loving gaze towards me.. and a chest embrace towards you.. I thought that it would pass to its paradise in the bed of the poor, satisfied with orphans.. and what it would reap from those over thirty years old, burying it and becoming a sky for two children?! As I thought.. and here it is, planting two axes of its promise in my dear ribs.. and kicking whatever remains with its return every year.