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Poem

Oh the aches and pains that haunt me,
Whilst I sit here in this chair. 
Of winters cruel indulgence,
And its harsh bitter air. 

The small cuts on my fingers,
What rights have they to sting so much?
The chafing of the bitter cold etch them also,
If only I could have avoided its scarring touch.

But what adrenalin coursed through my body,
Exploding in each synapse of my mind,
When in a sledge atop an icy hill, 
My better judgement went blind. 

After the count of three I was free,
Speeding down a worn incline.
Hysterical with ecstasy,
Feeling outside of time.

A sharp dip tries to end my fun.
Propelling me up before upon my back I fall,
But sure and fast I continue on.
Over the ice I scrape, as high speeds enthral.

Through the snow my poor hand trawls,
Bitter cold and nearly blue.
Eventually my boots find a nook,
Against which I brace and to a stop I drew.

Expecting pain and tears I lay a while,
But instead numbness and laughter wells up within.
I’ve lost my hat and balance and feeling, 
But I haul myself up to climb again…

Yes the aches and pains that haunt me,
Are oh so tiresome and hindering,
But sometimes senseless wants can’t be ignored.
Give in to that child within, winsome and laughing.

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