Glaring Ice

I read a poem,
a poem I had not
read before.
I will not
tell you the
name of the
poem or
the poet's name,
other than
I liked that
poem about
sleep, night, and
glaring ice.
I looked up
the poet to
see what else
he wrote back
in the day
before I was
born. There was
mention of
a poet that
was well-known,
and that this
poet, was a friend
of the well-known
poet. That was
what he was known
for, friend of
a well-known poet.
That struck me
as odd and sad.