My daughter’s traces I see in the snow
My daughter’s traces I see in the snow.
They are so light, her footsteps only show
as this faint blue where shadows grow.
All floats where she decides to go.
A Sunday walk in some year long ago
my understanding father holds my hand in tow.
How strangely fitfully do clocks tick to and fro!
And all still showing of the traces is the snow.