Ice

The ice is cold beneath my fingers

As I graze my hand along the floor

Reach out for your hand, but there it lingers

Call out, and again, till my throat is sore

By now, you would think, I'd think it figures

That you won't come running when I fall

But somehow, I hoped, believed things were different

That this time around, you would give your all

And I can get up on my own

Steady feet, repeat