Wooded Path
The snow spills quickly now, the clouds uncurbed
by warming rays of long departed sun.
Here and there the wind-smoothed sheet's disturbed
by tracks that tell where deer and rabbit run.
I'm not the only traveler this night,
and nature precursed everywhere I go.
It seems that other creatures can delight
in quiet ambulation through the snow.
I've never been too fond of wintertime,
especially when white dust fills the air,
but if the world finds snow to be sublime,
there's got to be some beauty it can share.
To me, the frozen flakes were cause to mourn,
but I'm convinced by nature not to scorn.
