Iced Preserves

The grim grin is set in the ice;

no grazing this glaze.

These incisors that cropped field and hill grass,

are ridged in a gormless gawp,

this nullified, frozen skull is

all that remains of this sheep.

Relative bones picked clean

by beak and claw, or

gnawed on by canine jaws.

Moss  has seeded itself neatly

between the teeth;

one  last defiant gesture?

All pain and lack of breath

are now irrelevant.

The air, sun and snow are all barred,

in fact all is calmed,

except for a faint glimmer

of deflected light.