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.

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