Icicles

There’s one way to know we’re in Nature’s grip,
And that’s watching some icicles drip, drip, drip.
With each little drop, they get slightly shorter,
Turning from daggers to weak, wet water.

Catching the sun, they look made of glass;
As cold weather fades out, their short lives will pass.
Kids pluck them down – sometimes even suck ‘em;
Following that, they poke, prod and chuck ‘em.

While they exist, though, they’re sharp and sleek,
Exuding much more than a mild mystique.
Their beauty can’t last, which is sadly tragic;
But while they’re around, they are winter’s magic.