Elongated fingers claw at my scarf
As I walk down this narrow and lonely road
Between the bakery and the local consignment shop.
Only the brave venture the snow storm,
Only the strong return home safely,
Only the wise find a way forward.
The lost ones, the ones who wonder narrow roads,
Call back to les femmes de la neige,
The tarnished creatures lingering on the road side,
Hidden in the far corners of alley ways;
Endless piles that soar heights, yet invisible to the eye.
They whisper of loneliness, of endless woe, a soft place to rest,
A bed to sleep away the sorrow.
They breathe your name, a puff of heat in a white tundra,
Because, you see, I could walk anywhere I like,
But I walk the lonely narrow road
To remember spring has come before;
One day it will come again.