Icicles hang across my view
Like cold grey iron bars.
In my comings and my goings
I see less sun, more stars. (full moon over our back yard)
Outside in the silver snow is where I want to be.
Though woods are lovely, dark and deep
They're better when I ski.
Photos and poem by The Leener
There Goes the Sun, doo-doo-doo-doo
2 hours ago