Unsheathed in the Snowy Fray

Whose bloody footprints in the snow I think I know.
His trail is black in the cloud-smothered moonlight, though;
He will not see my innocent, pale-white tracks following.
Squinting into the blizzardy fray I did, his footprints in the snow fading.

My blurred eyesight makes me think its sure madness
To tail a mad soul through the darkness;
Between heaven’s moonlight, and hell’s dark, cold wood
Gripping the sheath strapped to my belt I would!

I unsheathed my gleaming knife and slashed
To cut if there is someone there.
The only other person is gashed
Of a wound and laying there.

The whiteout is blinding, dim and filled with mystery,
But I must keep merry,
And a journey to unsheathe before I see,
And a journey to unsheathe before I see