Drops of red adorn the snow,
A trail leads off in the dark,
And as we follow the bloody trail,
Do the drops come from a heart,
As moonlight glistens on the snow,
The blood is a crimson red,
Are they real in the dark,
Or just a product of our head.
Beside this trail of deep dark red,
Faint footsteps can be seen,
Could it be another heart,
Wonders what this trail means,
Do these drops mean someone’s wounded,
Where do they originate, who’s the source,
Is it somehow a fatal wound,
Or a scratch that bleeds with force.
The footsteps soon grow clearer,
More fresh in the snow ahead,
And as we blindly follow,
Will we soon find the creature dead,
Who or what could bleed so long,
Yet still remain alive,
And as the trail wanders on,
Is love where we arrive.
As moonlight twinkles on the fallen snow,
We see the blood drops clearly,
Spaced along uneven snow,
It seems the trail widens,
One set of footprints turns into two,
And I can’t help but wonder,
Do the others belong to you.
As we stop to study,
These blood drops on moonlit snow,
You’d think the tears that are falling,
Would be frozen in this cold,
Yet then we’re struck with the knowledge,
These blood drops are our own,
Tears making a pathway,
Through this darkness we’ve come to know.
We walk across the moonlit snow,
And see the white with drops of red,
It’s then we seem to realize,
Those spots are the tears we shed,
We worry about another’s pain,
And ignore the things we feel,
These drops of red are from falling tears,
Shed for love we know is real.