Footprints

Desolate and silent streets.
Everything covered in a white blanket,
And it’s two a.m. and we are the only ones out.
The whole town is dead,
Sleeping at this late hour.
And we are walking, talking quietly if at all,
Careful not to wake anyone.
Mostly we are silent, like the streets,
Gazing at the beautiful storm.
Soon the heavy snowfall will erase our footprints
Like we were never here together.

The End

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