Sun sets early over melting snow,
a grey coldness descends
and ice forms where once soft powder white
glinted in the light of dawn
with an all embracing quietude of calm.
Coldness turns purest white delight
into treacherous sheets of ice
that crack under the careful placing of feet
and snowballs full of fun
have now become icy missiles
until they melt in gentle morning sun.
David Taylor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-same-substance/
