There are footprints in the snow;
whose they are, I do not know.
Some are human, some are not;
Some are buried, hard to spot.
Since I haven't been around,
Feet or paws have tramped the ground,
Possibly in search of food
Or to seek some solitude.
Either way, they've left their mark,
Lending me the proper spark,
Waking up my appetite
And the urge to sit and write.
So I offer up my thanks
To the creatures from whose ranks
I've gotten wind, with gentle hints,
They've paid a visit, leaving prints.