To The So Called Lover of Nature

"Trodden pathways scar the snow's fall"
The nature lover tells all.
"Pristine and untouched!"
Her motto she calls.

But what comes to my mind
is a graver image still:
A world more ugly
than the purist can tell.

No pathways at all;
no imprints, no fall.
The ommission of humans;
the worst possibility of all.

Only five days then nothing;
no image, no mess.
With no like or dislikeness
no redemption, no rest.

While it certainly could be better,
it could be worse my dear one.
What sadder path can there be
than the one untrampled on?