Ode to an Icicle

Made of ice,
Clear, yet opaque,
Hanging from the rafters...

Mysterious little icicle,
Formed by the melting rays of the sun,

Ironically put to death
In the same manner,

Slowly

D
R
I
P
P
I
N
G

Away into nothing;

Destined to a life
[imprisoned]

Only to be forgotten
When the winter winds
Stop blowing.




poem (c) 1995 by DKF
photo (c) 2007 by DKF