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

    Once his pathway was fully marked,
    He looked back at the grass and moss.
    The empty, iced patch, once so stark,
    Artistic prints 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
    Who looked with disdain at the prints
    Pressed slowly into pristine white.
    “Well, 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?”