(I've never written a poem like this before, but I tried my best! The challenge I am giving myself is to write a poem using ballet terms, which I am definitely not knowledgeable in.)

In the beautiful loom of winter,

a dance seems to start.

The shadows begin first,

stretching their legs as far out as their bodies allow.

The darkness takes center stage with the moon,

their bodies bending and molding together,

the stars accompanying with gentle demi-pliés.

The wind picks up in a sweeping glissade,

teasing the trees,

guiding their leaves in tender pirouettes.

The birds and the foxes, the rabbits and mice

all a captive audience to winter's frigid embrace.

Soft paws and assemblés lead to quiet resting places.

Winter's call is the startup of an orchestra,

and the readying feet of dancers.

It is the way the sun stands ready, arms open,

for the final grand allegro.