Winter berries, so red on the vines
Draping over the glass’ed scene.
Blazing morn of the December fall
With the yellow-orange leaves framed by ice.
Walking through, the water bubbles
From the ground’s sheet of ice—
The soft crust of ice—give way
With tender sounds like sawing bread.
Upon the ground is a picture
Framed, the patterns of the forest floor.
Leaves, in their tender reds, golds and brown
Framed by the solid sheet of glass.
Like walking on a glass bottom floor
With the delicate leaves framed beneath,
The soft crust of ice gives its breath
As soft steps press down upon the ice.