| No Foot Prints In The Snow |
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It was January, I guess, Many years ago. We had a winter cold And eleven inches of snow. As I watched from my window, The world was dressed its brightest white; Dangerous to the traveler But, what a wonderful sight. I had busied myself Doing house work and all Came a stranger to my door, Maybe five foot six inches tall. He looked, for all I could see A homeless man, I would guess, Asking if he could shovel the walks. I wanted much to say, "Yes." I told him I had not a cent To pay a shoveler's fee, But figuring he was hungry. I asked him to wait for me. I went to get him some food And some to take along his way; Wishing I had money here, at home, For some one with a need that day. I walked into the kitchen, To see what I had to give. Returning to the living room, He was out shoveling, "O no, God forbid!" I asked him not to do so, For I had no money to pay. But, he heard me not. He just kept shoveling away ... From the walk to the drive, Clearing from the drive to the house, too; Said he had nothing else Any better than to do. When he finished, he stepped inside. I said, "I got some food for you." When I returned to the living room, He was gone ... but where to? I looked up and down the road, Piled deep with the falling snow. Up and down, again, I looked. Just where did he go? There was not a soul stirring, Not any one any where. He had seemed to vanished Into the cold wintry air. The snow was deep in the road And it was stirred not. I just felt so puzzled To where He has so swiftly got. As I walked back to the house, Something I noticed, out there. In the high drifted street, There were no foot prints anywhere. The more I thought about this, I asked myself, what shovel had he used. Wasn't ours, I was sure, or his. For there was none at the door, I was now so confused. No foot prints in the snowy street, A Home less stranger no, not he. I think I was blessed by an angel that day. For, no foot prints did I see. This is many years later, Though my memory is sometimes dim. I couldn't tell you of his face, Or any thing else about him. No foot prints in the snow, A stranger at my door; I can't say for certain, But I will believe forever more. Angels we sometimes entertain, Oft times unaware. Into my life he came, A visitation I'm sure was rare. Maybe there is another answer And I won't take the memory apart; Not a foot print in the snow, But plenty in my heart. |
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