So winter closed its fist <br />And got it stuck in the pump. <br />The plunger froze up a lump <br /> <br />In its throat, ice founding itself <br />Upon iron. The handle <br />Paralysed at an angle. <br /> <br />Then the twisting of wheat straw <br />into ropes, lapping them tight <br />Round stem and snout, then a light <br /> <br />That sent the pump up in a flame <br />It cooled, we lifted her latch, <br />Her entrance was wet, and she came.<br /><br />Seamus Heaney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rite-of-spring/
