Beautiful

There's nothing quite like, so beautiful, as a walk with a friend,
out under the stars,
and the moon, and the snow on the ground,
and the lights on the side of the path shining,
separated - a patch of light, a patch of dark,
you see the lights and the snow -
Is this Lantern Waste? I'm walking with a Lucy, after all,
Is this Fangorn? I thought I heard a deep creaking,
Then over the bridge to even more silence and stillness on the other side.
New snow, a playful leap over the gate, and as we cross the bridge, the creaking again
that's where it came from!
And Oh, isn't it such a pleasant surprise to be greeted in such a gentlemanlike manner by the person on the bridge? We quite approve.
And then, we turn back to talk, and catch the snowflakes on our tongues.
Beautiful




And that's probably the closest thing I'll get to sentimental poetry. This is a true story.