One early day I walked a path
A storm had topped with snow.
Though winter lessened in her wrath,
The wind that traced the aftermath
Had slapped my face with ice in tow—
Her wintry grip to show.
I heard a voice amid the gale
As winter slowed her dance.
It echoed through the falling hail
And sounded like a mournful wail,
Which freed me from a frigid trance.
I chanced a wary glance.
I heard it say, “Forget the past,
The pages that have turned.
The ink has faded; time has passed.
Your holding on will only cast
Continued pain you have not earned.
But save what you have learned.”
I weighed the words, then looked around
To share my thankful glee.
Despite my search, no one was found.
I looked toward the snowy ground;
No footprints 'round that I could see,
But ones left there by me.