I follow one trail, another,
Ending sharply
In these woods.
Crunching last Fall's

Leaves under bare feet.
Blackberry stickers,
Thorned, ivy webs.
No passage. No trail.

Under woods-cool canopies...
Knowing I must turn
Back. Run through rain
Bending leaves, grasses.

Then, I must make the trail.
I wish to know the end
Of a path begun years ago...
To hear my Father speak to me.

elysabeth faslund

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/father-s-footprints/