Icicles

Dripping water morning freeze
dangling popsicles from a tree
a fragile branch takes a bow
i break one off and lick it now
there is no flavor, melts too soon
if that’s the way i choose to consume

or shall i wait for the warming sun
catching cold drops on my reaching tongue?
‘cause then i’d rather wait till noon
while playing in the soft white snowy dunes
i carouse and gambol before attaining this boon
does that make me an enduring loon?

will i engage in either points of view?
i guess that depends on the weather’s gloom
is it the chill of the evening’s perfumed moon
or the crooning of the morning's gentle tune?
i guess it doesn’t matter, i know what i'll do
relishing each refreshing day and grabbing it in full.