There are those of a certain mold,
for whom the bell doesn't toll,
they skate in a cul de sac of bliss
we were on that select list.
We skated many miles, with glories smiles.
The hand of fate guides those on stainless steel skates.
Laertes' sound advice to Ophelia,
was not by us perceived as a panacea.
So we booked passage on life's merry-go-round.
I dreamed that I had fallen upon damp ground.
In early winter with midnight snow upon my head.
The cold was like I was underground.
How could the snow fall underground?
The flakes piled up around my earthen bed,
and lay upon my mouth like lead.
Then your gossamer kiss upon my lips I read.
This woke me to receive the news,
Yes! It was all true, not a ruse.
The child was hers and footloose.
Up to now, it had all been so easy.
The big decisions, had not been messy.
I am still a wild child, jam skating center rink.
In high heels shoes at the gym's climbing wall.
I'll still get high on existentialism, when I think,
and if there is a gypsy wind for the skate, give me a call.
I'm still the divine skating stud muffinette,
who laugh at those with problems for the planchette.
But now, is the dread of the ineluctable task.
When should a child receive its' 1st pair of skates?
K.I.S.S. is the golden mantra of the past;
when the perspicacious child ask.
T.Edward Black
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