Before our skates had touched the pond that day
We knelt to see, embedded in the ice,
A fish long dead, his frozen eye turned up;
And further on through surface clear and green
A sluggish waving weed in silent water.
But who could care for all that moved below?
Our skates are sharp, the air is bright,
The lake is wide; we swoop, we glide,
Like gulls. We fly, we fly.
On Cedar Lake, 1957 by Ruth F. Brin
Before our skates had touched the pond that day
We knelt to see, embedded in the ice,
A fish long dead, his frozen eye turned up;
And further on through surface clear and green
A sluggish waving weed in silent water.
But who could care for all that moved below?
Our skates are sharp, the air is bright,
The lake is wide; we swoop, we glide,
Like gulls. We fly, we fly.