In a world of white, pure and sure,
A lone wanderer steps unsure.
Footprints etched in soft, cold bed,
Whispering tales where thoughts led.
Snowflakes gently descend,
The wanderer's path, with purpose, bends.
A journey through frosted glades,
Where time's hustle slowly fades.
Footprints weave a solitary tale,
Through snowy woods, over hill and dale.
A silent symphony in frozen hue,
Painting a picture the heart knew.
As the moon casts a silver eye,
Footprints stretch under starlit sky.
In this world of white, serene and still,
The wanderer finds peace, a soul fulfilled.
By
Emily Verse
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