A snowcovered lane
Lined with trees
Whose overarching branches
Form a lacy canopy of black and white
Beckons and forbids the viewer all at once
Would you be the one
Who dares mark the spotless blanket of snow
With your pedestrian tracks
Or will you, like we
Simply stare, longingly and wonder
What mysteries await
At the turn of the expanse
At the end of the arched path?