Silver Bay

Its icy finger reaches forth
Its hand extends both south and north
Unto the waters cold and calm
Speaking in hushed whispered psalm –

Its meaning never is quite clear
Its moaning voice we always hear –
As if to speak an ancient tongue
Forewarning all that is to come

We cannot question winters truth
Yet walk across on foot and hoof
While marveling its mystic ways
Across the points of Silver Bay