Ice is nice until you trip on it, slick maybe clear,
glistening like glass, this season, giving us its gifts we might slip on, over,
or break through, this unholy season we must endure until the ice nice or not
melts, and we wait for buds of love to flower, I mean no disrespect for this
season, this world of ice that we must have to reach a time when we might
embrace something else, and we can grow again, winter is not a time of Love,
even with its gift of roses and candy and Valentine hearts, it is time when we
wait and wonder as ice melts under our toes, for when sprouts sprout up to
tickle us, to tease us, to tempt us, the giveaway to the soft pleasures we
can't even imagine in the depths of cold, ice being nice as long as we're being
careful
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