© 2011 Rolland G. Smith
The ice has come to coat the trees
In prism’s slice of colored light.
I must await the shaking breeze
To free the bark and buds forthright.
Refraction has its counterpart
Within the sound of crackling ice.
It lets your mind and thought depart
And feel the sound as it clinks thrice.
For some there is no joy in cold
No beauty seen on slippery street.
For others this is coated gold
With greetings to the freezing sleet.
But I am one that sees it all
From when its warm and when it’s not.
In spring the summer and the fall
I also see the winter’s blot.
Tis nature and her craft of art
That decorates a winter’s scene.
Despite our hopes of mind and heart
Ice is the glaze of grace’s sheen.