Snowflakes ride my eyelashes playfully,
Their bretheren filling up the forest floor;
My path, once clear, no longer there to see
And I from home, yet still six miles or more;
Shaking snow cakes off my feet I trundle on,
I must get back before the fall of night,
The trail now blurred, in darkness will be gone,
And waxing cold will follow waning light.
She’ll be surprised to see me, this I’m sure;
I did not tell her I would leave today,
I trust she will be sitting by the fire
Planning sweet reunion, the coming day;
Then, home at dusk, the last mile took the most;
The windows dark, a strange horse at the post.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.