Footprints in the Snow
Now the hounds of winter come, shake the trees
with frosty breath, blow sharp cold weather blues
across the fallow fields, the wings of crow
write black legends, to say below the freeze.
No map is needed, no map, and no news
no travelers, merely footprints in the snow
left by whom? And when? Not feathered friend. Strange
to see bold tracks in white, some silent clues
of presence, of life, of some thing to show
I’m not alone. Now more snow, footprints change–
For the dVerse prompt using winter song titles, I attempted a curtal sonnet, which was Paul Brookes’ challenge form last week that I’m just getting to. It’s a form invented by Gerard Manley Hopkins. I don’t have the meter right.