|
Then suddenly the one starts
running Across the open snow. Crossing unseen sidewalk Far beyond the work-fire's
glow. Returning in the darkness Snowsuit hung again on hook of
fact, Yet avoided like the naked
ones Who never made it back. And from the morning
thimblers, A shout of joy is heard, "We can see a bit of
sidewalk Together now, forward!" "The wind has blown it
exposed In footstep shape," they
cry. "Hey, someone spat on my
sidewalk Patch, I’ll see the bastard
fry." ---------------------------------------------------------- Listen to the traveler Even tho' the facts be old. For there may be another way And that way may be cold. |
