The drip, drip, drip upon my wall
Resembling a small waterfall
I hear the sound I query why
Where is the source of its supply ?
Icicles cling by my front door
Perhaps it’s that and nothing more.
How marvelous that God has thought
To leave remains of what He’s wrought,
This fragile ice will help recall
The beauty of His last snowfall !
Claire V. Bogdanos 