Poem: Ice

(Ah… December… Snow, ice, cold, my birthday…Wanna offer me a Cup of Coffee?)

Ice

The cold wind blowing
The howls of winter’s coming
The place that fish could normally go

I sit before the water running
Faster than the freezing
But soon ice skating will be common

The temperature drops further
The body tends to shiver
The last thing left is the ice to form

I watch the children ready
Faster than a speeding yeti
But they cannot rush water’s changing form

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