Icy Cones

Icy Cone

Like teeth they are, born from the winter it will bite,
And dripping to nothing in the sunlight.
Almost clear hanging from the roof above,
It bares no comfort or anything of love.
The cool grip of ice stands stout ready to fall,
and the crackle burst when if falls is the only thing that gives it's call.
All the time I see it hanging over my head,
I feel that there is one thing I dread.
The cold shell falling down will surly harm me,
so I wait for the sun to set this cone free.
When it falls and shatters to my feet,
I unstintingly fall back to retreat.
The sound still echo my ears as I see,
the cones fall from the tops of all trees.
Like rain of icy flesh and steel,
that shatter and look for something to kill.
I can only bare witness to this untimely event of life,
for in the winter only bares birth to this strife.
So when it's a cold and white day as this,
and you since the ice gives you that cold kisses.
Look up above and you will plainly see the,
little care package winter has put on the tree.
Duck or scurry if you like,
but run from the falling icy pike.

Written By
Robert Lee Niswander
Copyright 2004