The Main Ice
In winter's domain, when ice gives way, The fundamental ice comes, setting down deep roots. A realm tremendous of frozen glass, Where time appears to be still, as ages pass. Streams stop in their consistent stream, Locked underneath a precious stone sparkle. Lakes and lakes, in sleep profound, Reflect skies in their cold rest. The ice is expert, firm and wide, Its solidarity a scaffold, a world's gap. Skaters skim in euphoric flight, Following examples of momentary light. However concealed underneath this frozen may, Lies life that pauses, hidden. Bubbles ascend in frosty casings, Mysteries held in winter's games. The fundamental ice rules, an unemotional watchman, Its excellence brilliant, its edges hard. However, even ice, for all its power, Yields in spring to the sunlit hour.
In the quiet of night, when everything is still,
The principal ice crawls, a ghost chill.
It floats on wings of silver light,
A painter's hand on material white.
The leaves, when distinctive in pre-winter's fire,
Presently shine delicately, their edges higher.
Moved by ice's sensitive, passing hand,
They sparkle like gems across the land.
The air, an edge, so sharp, so clear,
Conveys murmurs of winter close.
Underneath the pale and spooky shine,
A quiet world starts to develop.
Every piece of turf, encased in ice,
Shines brilliant, a diamond exact.
The desolate trees, with branches exposed,
Wear crowns of ice, their snowy flare.
The morning comes, the sun rises,
Its brilliant touch the ice protects.
For minutes brief, a dance unfurls,
As light touches off the frigid virus.
A transient sorcery, brought into the world of night,
Stirs hearts to winter's sight.
The fresh, unadulterated air, the world aglow,
A frozen dream that before long should go.
However in this chill, there lies a flash,
A stunner brilliant to warm the dull.
For ice is temporary, winter's dream,
A gift to the individuals who look for its shades.
Also, as the day wakes,
The ice withdraws, its spell to break.
However in our souls, it waits still,
The principal ice's touch, its frigid rush.
About the Creator
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