In the stillness of winter’s embrace,
Ice weaves its tale, a silent grace.
Crystals form, a delicate art,
Whispers of nature, where stories start.

Beneath the pale, silver moon’s glow,
Frozen rivers in gentle flow.
Each flake a memory, time’s gentle muse,
In the silence, a world to peruse.

Icicles hang like nature’s chime,
Echoing softly, a melody sublime.
Through the cold, a warming light,
Reflecting hope in the longest night.

The dawn arrives, a golden hue,
Melting dreams with morning dew.
Yet in each drop, a promise lies,
Of winter’s return, beneath the skies.