Ask Matsuo Basho how a pond becomes a poem, he’ll respond:

How can a pond become a poem, because it’s muddy because it’s clear because it’s cold because it’s there because a frog decides to jump and make a splash.

Maybe, you had to be there. I acknowledge, it’s not much, — but still, that’s how a pond becomes a poem.

I’ll close with this, it’s February. There are no frogs.

In February

A frozen pond doesn’t speak,

It groans, so to speak