Frozen Ground

Frozen Ground Everything differs on frozen ground, Brittle stalagmites obscure green skywards, Whilst all around damp is the sound, That crunches the breakfast walk. Semi-permanence becomes a mirror to our image, Bifurcated bark life agonises brown skywards, Its so easy to lose sight of our village, That nestles so we can pretend we belong. Yesterday the ground was not frozen solid, We trudged up slopes of deep dark mud, A prancing, chancing, simply horrid, Yet we look back in kindness for time shared. So it is time that holds mastery over all, Changing the seasons occurs without reason, But change it must, our frozen ground will thaw, And therefore it is time that offers us hope. Hope of change is an acceptance of time passing, We cope with frozen ground by preparation, Not once do we trial a new form of season blasting, Or seek to control the seasons once and for all. Our frozen ground is actually a metaphor for where life is found, The clearly obvious situation of the human condition forgotten, That as time passes our true control and role is not so profound, For we cannot control it, not at all. @Andrew Carnegie, Frozen Wiltshire, January 5th 2017. If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below: https://youtu.be/Ic_V7aX4xbk