In Which I Wonder At Wicked Water

Two hydrogen, one oxygen; that's all

A water molecule contains. It's just

So simple. In a cup, a pool, rainfall

It's strange enough, though still innocuous.

But should it freeze, there seems to be no end

To mayhem. People slip and cars may crash

That cross it. Then consider, too: the blend

Of alcohol and ice cubes brings on brash

And indecorous manners. But for me,

Why, water is most wicked when it hangs

As icicles from rooflines, menacing,

And looming o'er our heads in heavy gangs,

Assailants and cruel weapons both; they cling

But lightly to their perches, waiting for

A hapless soul's approach to the front door!