Things of ice that only appear in winter.
That is what I am.
Yet, only a splinter.

Never once do I get to see my killer.
The sun, as it penetrates my life.
Others of my kind find this a thriller.

Stuck gazing at the ground.
Though the snow sure is beautiful.
Snow gets to gaze at the sky day to night around.

The best ****** weapon, I am called.
My sharp tip ideal.
To melt away after I fall.

It's not my fault.
After winter,
I'm put into that summer vault.

Only to return,  
after snow.

Always to follow.
Never to lead.