Distant Prints of Foot!
It’s a half past five on a Monday morning – waiting for the dawn to break,
There are snow reports upon the stream of visions – with the grip of winter’s take!
The changing of seasons are changing their gear – when the north-wind comes to blow,
With the creep of the icing and the crystal waters – where the freezing grinds a slow!
The rain it flows in its fanciful torrents – bursting at riverbanks – random at will,
The storm-child roars with the cry of the land – as we brace against the chill!
With battened down hatches the mind’s free to wander – bouncing reflections to and fro,
Where memory serves at the tugging of trails – where distant prints of foot did go!
Summers they danced and meandered forever – withering wheat fields on the parch,
Autumns in their turn with a veil of rust – Springs of life in motion – and on the march!
Rivers they wandered and the Brooks did gurgle – the pond it wore its weed,
With the time and tide that we step inside – where creation grows its seed!
Contemplation lengthens the growth of your beard – when you find your hidden hold,
It’s out with the old and in with the new – and how the story’s always sold!
There are corners of cobwebs that cry for attention – that hide from the prying eye,
Memories and echoes that snag in the past – to be let go before we die!
Dark is the blackness – pierced by the moonlight – within the grip of winters shade,
We look to the future and follow the light – the call of the awakening and its parade!
To the growth of the sunlight and the length of the day – the budding of the blooms,
Where life overflows – around our path as it goes – and we put away our brooms!