Choosing tough words, granite, flint to break the ice

Where I lived – winter and hard earth. 
I sat in my cold stone room
choosing tough words, granite, flint,

to break the ice. My broken heart – 
I tried that, but it skimmed, 
flat, over the frozen lake.

She came from a long, long way,
but I saw her at last, walking,
my daughter, my girl, across the fields,

in bare feet, bringing all spring’s flowers
to her mother’s house. I swear
the air softened and warmed as she moved,

the blue sky smiling, none too soon
with the small shy mouth of a new moon.

— Carol Ann Duffy "Demeter"