A Philip Larkin poem for this ween’s theme (thanks to Urszula for suggesting it). It is a bit of a melancholy poem but I think it is beautiful.
Morning At Last: There in the Snow
Morning at last: there in the snow
Your small blunt footprints come and go.
Night has left no more to show,
Not the candle, the half-drunk wine,
Or touching joy; only this sign
Of your life walking into mine.
But when they vanish with the rain
What morning woke to will remain
Whether as happiness or pain.
Prompt: Urszula was given the idea from seeing goose and duck prints. Animal or human tracks is one way to go but you could also write about walking in the snow, or use snow as a metaphor. We have looked at it before but this seems like a good time to revisit Robert Frost’s, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening:
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.