White Fields

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,

Everyone of them the same -

All across the fields there be

Prints in silver filigree;

And our mothers always know,

By our footprints in the snow,

Where the children go.

~ James Stephens