• He smiled as he strolled across,
    Leaving prints upon the ground:
    Stepping down through fragile frost,
    Exposing land of earthen brown.
    The blades of grass bended ‘neath him,
    Bouncing back as he passed through,
    Poking up from where his feet
    Crunched and broke the frozen dew.

    Once his pathway full was marked,
    He looked back at the grass and moss.
    The empty, iced patch, once so stark,
    An artistic path now slowly crossed.
    “A pleasant sight,” he thought right then
    And turned to wander on his way.
    “What pauses, smiling, I’ll begin
    To those who pass this path today.”

    Nary a minute after, fate
    Sent one more person past the sight.
    He looked with disdain at the prints
    Pressed slowly into pristine white.
    “What a lovely frost, indeed,
    This was,” he pondered. “So, then, who
    Would think to cut across the weeds
    And ruin them by walking through?”