La Glace Poem by Armadillo Poet

When the snows first fell, the ice clung to the bell
and whiteness fell over the bay.
That day was the last that the seasons would pass;
the choirs of fish drove astray.
We learned to milk dew from the ice and the chew
of the seal, the puffin and rat.
But sight of the goose flying left of his noose
took us hungry to feather and fat.
Wherever he goes, we witness in hand
singing songs of the praise of the north.
What’s unknown to me is sure to the fiend
that flies honkling his young in a crest.
We hold fast to the warmth of the beasts that we hunt
When we land on their secreted nests.