The field lay,
sad, cold, brown stalks rising rigidly and meaningless
from blue snow in footprinted rows
dark in the light of the orange sun
shining out between two lone trees
covered in blue-white snow.
The sky clouded, dark, lonely, even though
there is a little bit of fire at the bottom.
It only makes the dark stand out more.
The snow glitters, and the footprints
are cold and empty, waiting.