The last thrill on ice
By David Smith February 9, 2009
The joy of a family to take a grandson for a skate;
To feel young again and think you highly rate.
To picture yourself when you were young and alive;
Skating the Rideau Canal, being youthful and thrive.
Now to take my grandson to the rink;
That edge is missing as I sit back and think.
Muscle tone was lost. Feet, could not control.
Was not long before on a roll.
Twice on the ice like a pancake, I fell.
Once on the back and on my front I could tell.
A broken wrist and tender ribs in pain,
The thrill of skating; a victory I gained.
To show love for grandchildren, to come up with different ways;
Knowing limitations; a victory that pays.
O to be injured, out of love for the kids.
A very special joy to be active and to give.
Participate with children; give it all you can;
What I learned from my injuries; only maturity can understand.
Retired my skates, my youth, with no regret;
The last lap on the ice, the satisfaction I did get.
Marylyn Warker writes her take of the incident described by the Parking Poet.
An Ode to David On Ice
Composed and written by Marylyn Walker
Once upon a time; not so long ago,
This man named David thought he could
Take his grandson skating – what fun they would know
But thirty years gone from being on ice
And not too long ere he found it not nice.
His legs like rubber. So wobble they did
And out from under him they quickly slid
Down he went hard and suddenly found
Himself staring at the stars he did see
Up on his feet twasn’t too bad or so he thought,
When from young Jordon these words he did hear
“Grandpa…Caleb skates better than you!”
Three years of age!… I’ll prove him wrong
So up on his feet once again he did try
Wasn’t too long till he hit the ice on the fly.
His hat from his head that moment did blow
Exposing gray hair…oh what a show!
From onlookers he heard, “Its an old guy that’s down”
His ego now wounded his body so sore
And off to the Emerg to Doctor and gore
Alas poor David as he sat at home,
With a cast and nothing to do
But to drive poor Jerri to her very last nerve
Till at last its to work he must go
A poorly parked car – a ticket or poem, to serve