On Thin Ice

A rag-a-muffin girl glides uneasy across the ice, That Little sprite child was not there to play nice. Frusterated there's no one there pulling for her win, Her competition as brutal as it's always been. Determined if anything she'll bring her trophy home, Discouraged as she feels though she'd settle for the chrome. Time to Line up toe to toe, one by one assume the position, She cusps the sun from her eyes scans the crowd for her family's admission. They're not here sport so cowgirl up steadyily tip-toeing the line, With a deep breath and a silent prayer in this race she'll be defined. The crowd was hushed no sound for miles could be heard, Awaiting the crackle from the gun from the man with the beard. Just as quickly as it began it was over in a flash, Her balance failed her no second chances face tattooed with a gash. Then she spied her family way back among the crowd, With a tear in their eyes it was clear they were proud. That Little sprig of a child that I once knew, Well she went on to win herself that ribbon blue. She took a silver here and there, A bronze just the one, Practiced her balance until she could no Longer be outdone. Her goal though every time she Laced up those old skates, To capture that gold while spinning her favorite figure eights...