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"Where the Ice Grows Thin"
by Peter Benoit

He must have heard the muffled crack
That echoed just beneath his feet
And known the cold abyss and hack
Of icy knives on grizzled meat!.
He must have sensed the hour had come
To cross the waters in the West;
He must have known it's borne by some
To understand before the rest!.
He must have let his fire die out,
His chimney stood so cold and gray
With embers tiered as though a doubt
Arranged them when it came to stay!.
He must have known how thin the ice
Would grow there at the hint of Spring,
Poised like a slowly opening vise
To press a silver-tangled wing!.
He must have thought of all he'd lost,
How those few fated to remain
Upon an island tempest-tossed
Might wonder there what earthly stain
Compelled a soul to pass this way --
'Tis but a bitter triumph won
By dust and ashes swept away
In shadow, 'neath a dying sun!.
And so he turned for shore, to live --
To squander precious gold is sin;
But then the world would crack and give
No quarter, where the ice grows thin!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

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