I must go down to the ice again
to the sun, and the blue, blue sky
where a runner, a skate, or a cleated boot
is the key to a door flung wide

where the troubles of land are left on land:
the job and the list of chores
and the only challenge that’s left to face
is to move toward the distant shores

the bay was a patchwork of ice and snow
when I got there just at one
and the snow was bonded well to the ice,
the prospect was poor for fun.

so I ditched the skates, and ditched the sail
and walking would be my game
and when I got to the vast South Broads
my world was not the same:

the wind blew streamers of snow across
grey ice like polished stone
and I lay on my back with the wind behind
and my face like a sun-warmed bone

I’d clear my decks! I’d sail this day!
before the fate of tomorrow’s blow
and every thing I had now to do
would go better when spiced with snow

But a friend was battling cancer
a fight too well I knew
and sure enough I had promised
to help with the kitchen crew.

So I made this day a special day
when I could have sailed, but no:
I helped a friend skating one-inch ice
when I had a foot below

This ice is lovely, shiny, deep
but I my promises will keep
and pray that when, we’ve ice again
that skill and strength will still remain