Eyes gifted with blindness float.
It matters not where they fall.
Their hold on gravity will let them gloat
Until they must all answer to its call.
They’re pressed down firmly on the grass
As if no goodness came to pass.
A firm set of tracks cuts through the snow
I feel the need to trace its way.
But a freer walk could not be so,
Each crater held a slippery gray
As if this message would suffice:
“A twice trodden path is set in ice.”
Unpublished Material, ©2011 by Cali Digre
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