Classic Poem

Feet that have walked in moving snow,
Whether on a familiar street,
Or a whitened road they do not know,
Have performed the office of feet.

Mission has called them; from the dark
Of walls they have turned and sought the light,
And passing they have left a mark
Of a footprint on the white.

Whether with sober toe and heel,
Measuring out a chilly pace,
Or tripping a little for the feel
Of snowflakes lighting on a face —

They leave a peppered track behind,
And where each footstep's scar has been
For one sure moment well defined,
Patiently the snow drifts in.