An Ode To the Thighs
The mountain, it was steep.
The snow was very deep.
Caused involuntary “ahs”
from anyone who saw.
To get up to the top
was not some little hop.
It took tram, chair and poma
to tackle that big momma.
To start from the summit,
a near vertical plummet,
took the heart of a lion,
and left most people cryin’.
He checks skis, boots and poles,
but really he just knows,
he’s putting off the trauma,
the approaching descent drama.
It’s really exhilarating.
His heart is fibrillating.
He sucks up, screams and GOES,
and attacks the chest-deep snow.
It’s man against the mountain.
On his wits he is a countin’,
for to miss one little turn,
means a faceload full of burn.
He turns, he slips, he sails.
It seems he never fails,
to again make it down,
to that quaint little town.
With heart so pure and strong,
it doesn’t take too long.
He’ll never give up the fight
to conquer fields of white.
He goes again, again
The battle he does win
between the fields of snow
and our mighty hero.
The day comes to an end.
Misfortunes do portend.
Our hero’s not come in –
Good god, what’s happenin’?
A cry goes through the town.
Our hero has gone down.
The patrolman are a scurryin’.
The crowds they are a worryin’.
My gosh, good god, oh my
catch a glimpse as he goes by.
Our hero’s on a gurney.
Why’s he on this journey?
Is he hurt – did he crash?
His head a tree did bash?
Please say it isn’t so
Come on, we gotta know.
Speculation runs a flutter.
The crowds they stand and mutter,
with faces stained by tear,
they say “Please help us here”.
The data is a mess.
His friends they won’t confess.
So people stand and stare
at their seeming lack of care.
On his buds there is no frown -
just big smiles all around.
They don’t understand the cries -
he merely thrashed his thighs.
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