“The ski tracks, in the freshly fallen snow, nothing lack, until the wind blows” Gun Roswell

Freshly made tracks in the snow

Early morning, just at dawn
Something odd, into the soft white ground fall
The flakes so thin, so delicate
In beauty they will nothing lack
But a deep cut into the very core
Will make the gorgeous blanket sore
As the devices made out of plastic
Cut deep into the delicate blanket
Leaving scars a while lasting
A shadowy darkness over the softness casting
Bleeding, without healing
Until the sky breaks into tears
And healing soft flakes
The opens wounds place takes