Icicles: Poem

 

Icicles

Seeing the forest

Through trees and frost,

I see the most

On the cold morning day,

And I pray

For the birds

And the beauty and odds

On a cold winter day.

If you listen and care,

Music comes from the icicles

As it melts and lives again

As spring water and white crane.

Seeing the forest

Through trees and frost

From the window

Drinking hot tea impost

With cookies from homemade dough.

Tomshinsky@2026