In the winter time we go
Walking in the fields of snow;
Where there is no grass at all;
Where the top of every wall,
Every fence, and every tree,
Is as white as white can be.
Pointing out the way we came,
Every one of them the same -
All across the fields there be
Prints in silver filigree;
And our mothers always know,
By the footprints in the snow,
Where it is the children go.
(James Stephens - taken from my old book called The Child's Book of Verse)
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