Pond Ice Poem by Dianne Feaver

Should a warming air let winter slip
and thaw the rime that crusted hard
the snowdrift seal around the pond,
every rip out on the ice, every scar
from battles waged with sticks and shouts
and sharpened blades, disregards
the time of year and melts a bit.

Should night fall frigid and replace
the wind-soft ice, snapping tight
the surface mirror slick, how
lucky to be thrilling
to the wild race at daybreak,
first to set spirits soaring
on the best of winter's icy face.