The month matters notWhen poetry surfacesFrom my subconscious
In FebruaryIce whispers my name—“Jimmy”“Skate,” it beckons, “with Nature.”
Though July's heat meltsThe single-scooped ice cream treatHockey's time is nigh
Pros, they do prepareFor this upcoming seasonTo materi’lize
So now I reflectUpon mid-winter morningsSpent on frozen ponds
