Garden of Poetry

On a December night,
Hushed and blanketed white,
We crunched out across the snow,
Pulling our sleds as fast as we could go,
The heavenly flakes floating around,
Spreading more blanket on the ground,
Our pant legs stiff and creaking,
We, like wandering shepherds, seeking
A sign, something divine,
Beyond a field afar,
A snow-covered hill,
A ride, a thrill.

We might find it again, by and by,
Were we to seek, were we to try.

~ Daniel F Mitchell