On The Ice

That winter the canal was frozen.
Miss Williams, expert skater, gave us a holiday
I had no skates. My best friend's mother
Found an antique pair with boots that fitted both.
With one skate each, happily hand in hand,
We scooted, rather than skated, all the afternoon
Content just to be there with all the rest,
Miss Willams, elderly, flat–chested,
Petite, with spindly legs,
Looked like a Russian Countess
In her grey fur cap and muff and long black coat.
But fast, but skilful as a swallow
She cut elaborate patterns on the ice,
Her eyes fixed on the wild rose sky.
I do not forget that figure,
And the spectral willows watching from the banks.