Flame in the Snow
My feet are blue with cold
As I trudge the snowy hills
To find the signs of those gone
Ahead, leaving wispy wisdom
Like golden coins in the drifts
Of feather-like flakes.
Heart thudding as I hear a whisper.
It is your turn to pick up the baton
The lit torch in your path.
Forge on with it: it’s magical light
Guide for head and heart.
My feet cold no longer I see.
I am clad in shoes to protect-
A cloak grown warmer around me,
Heart steadier and surer
That my path, however different,
Is the right one to take...
And so I shall.
Head bowed I thank the ancestors,
The hills and wind,
The quiet-now gone-and a bird sings
Heralding my newness.
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