The Winter Miles

The roads of solitude grow whiter,
And stones beneath us paler,
While the green fades completely —
Ahead of us.

Grey is the sombre tone we keep,
While wandering along the street
That becomes our destiny —
With each step.

Our knees fall into the snow;
The trembling stops at last,
Here our souls will find eternal rest —
In silent grace.

-Laura Chouette