Magic is that
When water turns to glass
It goes by a name called Ice
It shifts and it cracks
With winds no laxed
From the cold which is outside
But when the sun comes
Its puddle within
Begins its movement inside
For no colder days
Could plague the sky
That could keep the puddle Ice
Stick and leaves
In frozen seas
Suspended weightless for a time
But pressure from the sun
And nature stuns
Its levitation mirrors a crime
Snaking like a valley
It dissolves so grieffully
And will never be a solid no more
Until next year
Someone may steer
Upon it
And see Ice like never before