Snow, by Mat
Footprints crossed a snowy waste,
Hurrying to catch their creator.
His feet fell rhythmically and the alliance grew
In extended precession
Behind his wilful back.
Beneath his feet each one was born
In his own image,
But none the same,
For as the wind swept snow across his ageless face,
A passing fancy gave all
The individual touch of eager steps.
Towards the end of winter's chill
A young sun smiles across a virgin field,
Where once his pattern revealed the path
He took in crossing.
Many snows had long since hidden the will,
The impression no longer a sign,
But part of the whole.