[By way of Explanation] The poems in this book could well be termed the footprints of a pilgrim.

Sitting by my laughing fire
I watch the whitening world without,
and hear the wind climb higher, higher,
rising to a savage shout;
and on my hearth
the logs smile on,
warming me
as they slowly perish;
they had been felled
by ax and saw
while fellow trees
were left to flourish;
but what was spared
by ax and saw,
by some unspoken,
cruel law,
was being harvested without
by ice and wind
and savage shout.