Icicles, a sonnet


The seeping droplets of dead winter flash

And fall like stars on cold and splintered ground:

From icicles to frozen mire, earthbound,

Sharp-frozen splendor drains into warm ash.

Cold swords and frosty daggers melt and slash

Across a tear-washed sky, in silver crowned

With stars – as true and cold as ice they drowned;

Ice melting slowly in a soggy crash.

Night deepens in a solemn storm, a-spray

With inverse towers, blades for freezing hand

Of Winter, who lies damp and dying. Day

And night and earth and heaven stretching stand,

One’s green ascent another’s slow decay:

Drops flash and fall – beads on an endless strand.

(c) Sheila Roberts


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