The rhythmic drip of water from icicles in winter,
A soothing sound that makes my heart a bit lighter,
Each drop resonates with a delicate splinter,
The music of nature, a heavenly fighter.
In the quiet of the night, the drips compose,
A gentle lullaby that the stars repose,
Each note a symphony, as the icicles disclose,
Their melodic secret, the rhythm that flows.
As the ice begins to melt and thaw,
The drips become a chorus, free from winter’s claw,
A harmonious dance, a pure wonder to draw,
A magical melody, without a single flaw.
The drips echo softly, a tranquil song,
Through the frozen silence, they gracefully belong,
In the stillness of the season, they glide along,
A natural serenade, forever strong.
And so the rhythmic drip of water from icicles in winter,
Whispers a tale of beauty that will never splinter,
A liquid cadence, a mesmerizing printer,
Etching its melody in the world’s grand center.