Poetry

Crisp foot prints

Our steps crunch together

as we walk in time

across the frosted snow.

You hold my hand as I skid

over a frozen drain,

I clutch yours as you trip

over hidden tree roots.

The cold air doesn’t stop

our laughter from skittering about

the park and onĀ into the wind,

gliding across the ocean.

Our cheeks are rosy, smiles wide,

as our feet lead us home.