This Night I Wait
Crisp, fresh footsteps on the
smooth serene picture of
snow darkened by night.
They ruin the blanket of
nature left by the
flurries in the midts of winter
with a new beauty,
in which I find more attractive.
The crisp, fresh footsteps of your
departure leave me to ponder
on the questions at trial in your mind;
Have you enjoyed the day,
the cook-off at church,
sleeping at your grandmothers,
eating at mine?
and the safety of your journey
back to your warm, messy bed.
I sit on the edge of my own,
waiting for the return of the
crisp, fresh footsteps
one snowy day.
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