jeudi 27 février 2014

The Ski by James Blake Langola

Little ski
Thy winter's play
My thoughtless legs
Have skied today

Am I not a ski like thee?
Or do you pretend 
To be a rider like me?

For I am buckled and outfitted 
In the latest cool
Till some ice sheet
Or rock shall 
Tear my tendon

If skiing is life
Free-winging ripper rush
And the desire of hanging it up is death

Then am I a happy ski
If I carve 

Or if I die.

27/2/14.      Grand Montets