<I was taking a walk by a lake near my home, watching the small pools of water lap away at the edges of the ice, when the words 'slow little ice-melting trickle' popped into my head. Here's the finished product. ~L.W.>

The slow little ice-melting trickle,

Liquifying that haughty stone,

That stands in cold white defiance,

Ignoring Winter's call to her own.

Sitting together on the ice and the snow,
Listening to the wolf howl low,
The boy and his dog sat by the fire,
Under the shadow of the church spire.

They’d wandered that day, far and wide
At every house and farm they tried
To find to lay their heads;
To find a place to make their beds.

With frozen fingers and teary eyes,
The boy gazed up at the starry skies.
With child-like faith and belief unbound
He prayed this prayer, so profound.

I had to write a poem surmising chapter eight of L. M. Alcott's "Little Women" for a creative writing class. Hope you enjoy it!

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It all started that cold winter’s night,
Any and Jo started that horrible fight.
That is the way it started that day
Listen closely and hear what I say.

Incased in snow,
No one knows,
How she got there,
Where she will go,
Born into ice,
Nothing will sufice,
To sooth her pain,
There is no such device,
Nothing can set her free,
For you see,
Her love for the world,
For you and me,
Must remain hidden,
Nothing will sufice,
But to be incased in snow,
and hidden in ice.

(This was a paper I wrote for my work history class. Your supposed to write a Myth. So I did. I incuded a few of the Greek Gods, we're studying them and it was allowed. I actually want to expand this to be a full story. Not the limited three page thing we had to write. =D )

SHIVA
Goddess of Ice and Snow

Slain

Shatters of the Conscience,
the broken splintered sort
The creaking moaning anguish,
that froze my barren heart
Why does silence shatter,
the Ice that tasted sweet?
The coldest forms of "Wisdom",
that "wisdom" brought defeat
Warmth erased the selfish lies,
on the thick and lifeless slate
The harmful words of mine,
put on hateful waste
The sinful kind of sadness,
that tastes painfully sweet
Explodes to silent screaming,
of Love that shakes with heat