The season locks the lake away
More inaccessibly each day.
Ice quills became plates,
Plates became sheets,
And seams whereat those sheets did meet
Were stitched and sewn up tight
By frigid fingers overnight.
 
Lake's armour thick did grow.
'Til the iron blue quilt was shot with white
Where crack and crystals glisten bright
In low-angled, glancing light.
 
Now exiled under ice, the fish,
Steeped in the deep, thick cold exist,
Metabolically suspended
Until the season's spell is ended.