There are echoes of snow-crunching boots
On these tracks I have tread in the past,
With a new slice of ice underneath
That has deepened a fear of my mass.
As my tremorous knees seek relief,
Through the fog I perceive solid ground,
But the crackings strike chills in my ears
As the stinging of frost bite my crown.
Yet the sight of the driftings above
Which are pregnant with blanketing snow
Are the markers of time marching on
Never pausing or ceasing to flow.
‘Though my feet, which are frozen in fear,
Are unwilling to move like the skies,
I shall do as the heavenlies do
And awaken this sleeper of mine.