Snow hung heavy on the trees that day;
When I gave my very soul away.
The path to follow wrong or right;
Was carved into the wood that night.
Wise old owl offered no advice;
Only mocked, “You’ll pay the price.”
Moonlight shown on the lake of glass
Field mice whispered, “Walk on passed.”
But I could not resist the man, the myth;
It’s difficult to scream when kissed.
The wood alone and dark;
Never fails to leave its mark.
Retraced each step I’d taken there;
In feeble attempt to escape the lair.
Footprints filled with fallen ice.
I’d been warned not once but twice.
The winter’s wind carries his call.
Like crystal flakes I hear words fall.
The more I run, the further in this maze I’m in;
I find that frozen lake again.
October 11, 2000
