Where do I go from here? Do I head back
or find a place that is near.
My tracks are getting covered up with snow on the
Snowy season of the year.
And I hear nothing but my own feet steping
Lightly upon the snow, and hoping to find a
Place so I can rest my feet.
And I wouldn’t mind to start a fire down
by the mire.
For the embilments of it though can never leave
It in the snow.
As my tracking is clear I can see a house that is
Near - near enough so I can stop and rest my feet
By the fire, that is like my pire.
To give me what I need to listen to my every deed
On the wintery month of the season so far
And I hope that I’m not late. And hoping that
I’m not too .... late.

© The realist