The pathways are muddy and
Powered with snow from
The last night fearful storming;
Despite the dreadful cold
I have climbed down into
The low-lying vale to see you
In this godforsaken hamlet,
But finding no one at home,
I’ve popped next door to warm
My frozen limbs and. . .
Went out like a light for awhile. . .
To the very morning, sweetheart.
Go and look at the footprints
In snow—they should still be there,
All around your home threshold,
Instead of distrusting me so zealously.
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Sandie
Ron