Your orange eyes are all
I see when I think of 
Firm ice holding 
Your shape 
For it will end 
To melt is to know 
How it was to play 
In the winter cold 

Surely it is better 
To have sticks for arms 
Than to have lived
Without them 
Though your time is brief 
It must be worth 
Joy 
Made  

You will topple and tumble 
To a puddle 
Regular and 
Ordinary 
But you will have lived 
Come and gone 
Your swift 
Gift