"Pond ice beneath the hawthorn tree,
Reeds grasping from the frigid sculpture,
Freezing fog clinging to land and foliage,
Nature hindered but still in amelioration.
Horses in crunching frosted footsteps march,
To break the water trough's thick glaze,
And drink thirstily in raw, jagged gulps,
Until the thaw smoothes itself upon milder days.
A swan slips and skates on the icicled river,
Hoarfrost-encrusted rocks a guard of honour,
The Anatidae ascension, maladroit but effective,
Sure to pluck better days from its plumed reign."
― Stewart Stafford
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