CRONES NEST ENTERPRISES
Artist Writer Poet
Ice at Dawn
Slipping from warm bed into January dawn,
Well padded and clumsy with down,
Melting the brittle air in a world of cold
Softened only by huff of horse breath
There, near my left shoulder
And behind my swaddled head.
He stands, expectant, beloved, waits
For my pick-ax to fall, patient
For this morning gift of water soaking
Through the splintering ice.
Massive head on graceful neck
Lowered now to drink, accepts
The daily offering of my labor.
Tiny shards of ice catch fire in the light,
Airborne crystals sparkle like jewels,
Stick to my coat and skitter across
The frozen pond. My arm arches with the
As I swing the ax in rhythm with my heart.
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