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The Rink

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A circle of glass,
I cannot see through,
Freezing cold,
And icy blue,
Marked up with white,
For now at least,
Until there comes,
An ice making beast.
Littered with shoes,
Of a different sort,
With metal blades,
On the foot.
Children laughing,
‘Til they fall,
Then for their mothers
They do call.
Couples floating,
In a bliss,
They talk, they laugh,
And then they kiss.
Parents watching,
And with sighs,
“They’re growing up.”
They realize.
Seniors thinking,
About this all,
They remember
That kiss, that fall.
They remember,
Being on the brink,
Of falling on,
That ice skating rink.





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