I’m beginning to enjoy these little poetry experiments. I might be the only one, but I don’t care! I like playing about with meters and seeing what happens. Here’s one that sprang up, probably influenced from writing about that poor old ice man.
There’s a chill in his gaze
Just a frosty hint
And the breath from his mouth
Smells of Glacier mint
And his earlobes are red
As they cringe to his head
As they freeze what was said
Like a ghosts footprint.
© L. M. Roberts
My other poetry experiments;
Bookstains 
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