Hold The Spatula And The Small Bucket Poem by Maria Barbara Korynt

on panes frost is leaving refined patterns
are as carved, and glade in the snow.

the winter is adding snow down and even,
you don't know, at any time, you can lie

the longest possible, to fall on one's face,

because on ice, a layer of the snow,
is poor as well, treacherous.
you are going into a skid, and you are

going like, all over the sheet,
and when you stop, you will count losses
and you will walk from that moment, on with the

spatula, and the small bucket, full of sand...

you will sprinkle, you will flatten and ride
you will sprinkle, you will flatten and farther

correct braking - nothing is threatening you,
in due time and for place...