for a long while I thought of
myself as a child of winter
and folks came along who said
therefor I was cold and cruel
with a blue iced nose
and icicle hands
 
they said my words brought the frost
and a wind too strong
until they blocked me out
as my voice turned their flowers brown
and I wondered if perhaps
away was where I should be
 
for their brows darkened
at the first signs of snow
so what could I bring but distress
and my words died off to stop
the wind too strong and I was
silent for many ages
 
but my icicle hands were not
silent as my voice and they continued
to shape and create as my tongue
dwindled of art
and through the snow they shaped
their own flowers of blue and white
 
buds that glittered in the winter light
without leaves yet the petals were there
and in time my voice
returned with new words and new songs
so focused was I on those flowers of ice
I did not hear
 
the folks who came along
with words to melt my cold
no, I continued
for if from my icicle hands
flowers could bloom
then from my voice
 
kindness could come