FROSTY MORNING Plants stiff with the frost, One solitary rose Edged with delicate lace, The night air has tightened The earth, Prevented birth, But the heat of the sun Starts to melt The shimmering specs Of delicacy away. All is peaceful on the grass, The ice is cracking on the river, Ducks swim out to stretch Their feathery bodies After the cold night On the side of the river's bank. Winter time reminds me of Wet coats in the hall, Smoky kitchen to heat us, Large logs sizzling as they exert Their wetness on the hearth stone, Cut fresh from the garden, They fill the flagged floor With warmth. -- Mary Guckian, born Kiltoghert, Co. Leitrim. She has had poems published in various magazines in Ireland and abroad and her own volumes are "Perfume of the Soil" and "Road to Gowel" (Swan Press/Dublin). She has lived and worked in Sydney, Tasmania, the Channel Islands and Oxford.