the lake

the resting snowflakes sitting on the lake;
the air was frozen, bitter, cold, and grey.
the icicles dripped, never would they break,
it’s hard to tell if it is night or day.
the birds unbothered, continued their work,
and cars would drive on, having somewhere to go.
the lake remained still, no one to lurk,
the first to startle it was, in fact, the snow.
the snow would melt and flowers would start to bloom,
the lake would crowd with folk who want to swim.
and even the lake was looked at with gloom.
the chance of snow returning was slim.
the lake without the snow was getting worse,
all battered, broken, ugly, and cursed.