Black & Ice

The rain comes down as ice on grass
The solid glossy oaks go past
The air is still; the sky is old
My stomach's full and it's not that cold
I'm walking while I watch her back
Her heels are sure; her dress is black
Her umbrella's locked; her hips are free
She holds her place in front of me
As the solid glossy oaks go past
And the rain comes down as ice on grass

- Dennis Paul Himes