I am trampled on snow,
You take a piece of me wherever you go.
A fragment dragged from the sole of your shoe,
My shape changed, no longer new.
A smooth surface with a gaping hole,
I wear your imprint like a scar.
Unable to fill the spot where you left,
A piece is gone, a new kind of theft.
If blind eyes still cry,
Do broken wings still fly?
If honest lips still lie,
Do tired legs still try?
If poisoned minds still ask why,
Do tired lungs still sigh?
If deaf ears still reply,
Do lost souls still die?