For Steph and nods to Robert Frost, of course.
Stopping by the Track on a Snowy Morning
Whose track is this I think I know.
They are home, asleep in beds though;
They will not see me stopping here
To run the track in starlit snow.
I must seem strange to have no fear
Here alone, without sun’s bright seer.
‘Round the turf without end, I break
Sweat this coldest dawn of the year.
Breathless I go, ignoring ache,
Counting each lap; there is no mistake.
The only sound, my feet’s quick sweep
Over rubber and wafting flake.
The track is dark and the pace steep,
But I have intervals to reap,
And miles to run while they sleep,
And miles to run while they sleep.