The ice traces the trees
Like a boy on his knees
Tracing a picture in a book.
When he asks his father to look
His father sighs and puts on his glasses.
When his enthusiasm passes
He returns to his bouncing checks.
Father and son bend their necks.
Winters and winters hence
A man leaves the house he rents
And walks across the yard.
Life has grown too hard.
His death shakes the ice from the tree,
Revealing the real beneath the tracery.