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The Ice
March 28, 2013
My silver blade,
Is just a blur
As I run through my program,
Until my feet hurt
When I take off my skates,
I wish to skate more,
but I know I cannot
My hour is over.
I must wait until tomorrow
To hear the scrape of my blade against the ice,
To feel the cold wind sting my face,
To feel the excitement after landing a jump,
To dance on the ice,
Like a snowflake in the air.
The Ice,
The Rink,
The only place,
© Anonymous
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