Tip-toes on an icy silver blue
In the eye of dawn by a wintry hain
Colors linger quietly over the frosty quilt
warming the heart of the frozen pond
Icy depths encircle the waves
Niveously likeness, overflow like that with old memories
The palms of our hands are of a gispy
Back to the tantrum wind
That pricks at the surface of the water like needles;
Sun bronzes stand before the secrets of
The midnight pile of dry trees naked
At the edge of the water
That crowds itself in the moons shadow;
That divides its ghostly dreams
From the sleeping face of the frozen pond
