Footprints
By Big Frank Dickinson
Who trod this beach we’ll never know;
Though tracks remain yet hence.
They seem directed in a flow
To somewhere that makes sense.
We think now of some simple man
Moving -- straight ahead.
No hesitations, pause, or boot;
Onward -- surefoot tread.
And while the sand is frozen still
In a line directly shown,
Don't be mislead by tracks so clear;
Don't rule out future moan.
For moving up from foot to head
The line cannot be traced;
Where this man trod is quite unknown
The map has been erased.
Who trod this beach we’ll never know;
Though tracks remain yet hence.
They seem directed in a flow
To somewhere that makes sense.
We think now of some simple man
Moving -- straight ahead.
No hesitations, pause, or boot;
Onward -- surefoot tread.
And while the sand is frozen still
In a line directly shown,
Don't be mislead by tracks so clear;
Don't rule out future moan.
For moving up from foot to head
The line cannot be traced;
Where this man trod is quite unknown
The map has been erased.
1 comment:
You don't need a map. I recognize it. Dick Radant and I spent many a summer there protecting the swimmingly challenged. Patterson Lake.
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