Ice, held with winter’s breath,
Glazes the tender twigs.
Insulated and yet frozen,
Dormant branches weigh loaded.
Fragrant flowers now glisten, dead.
Its shiny sheen a beauty and danger,
Covering pebbles and making them smooth.
Best to look from afar;
For meeting it can cause harm.
I gaze at the insulated branches,
Waiting for the warming of the day.
© 2017 Valerie Hathaway