Snow that falls on distant roads
floating softly, tranquil peace.
And as I march ‘neath heavy load,
look forward to this burdens cease.
Yet ‘fore my face flakes blind my eyes
when hurried I lope into fate.
And winds that wander dull my cries,
against the road that ever waits.
For when a seeker walks this path
he looks not to the end of things.
Will fear not death, nor vengeful wrath,
delights in what each moment brings.