Two trails converged on a grassy tract,
I glanced at both, with time to bide,
And seeing what each grossly lacked,
Was glad I’d entered through the side.
I only guess which way each lead,
From context, maps, and getting lost,
Such crucial things escaped my head;
A fog of warmth in a summer frost.
I don’t think I’ve arrived alone,
There’s footprints here that I don’t know;
I feel as though my cover’s blown.
There’re beings hid beneath the snow.
If only I’d a horse, or sled,
Then maybe I’d decide much faster
I’ll pace in circles here, instead,
Until I’m caked in coats of plaster.
Two trails converged on a grassy tract,
With time to bide, I glanced at both,
And ignoring what each option lacked,
pushed across it into undergrowth.