Though the snow came down.
As the pond was frozen.
Our skis were waxed.
As our feet were clothin’.
The crowd showed up to win the gold.
But the silver shined on.
As the bronze took hold.
A metal of honor.
We wear at our neck.
Ski board in hand.
So what the heck.
The torch burns bright.
As it travels its distance.
Lighting our skies.
For the Winter Olympics…
by Mr.Kim Robin Edwards
(3 votes, average: 3.67 out of 5)
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on Tuesday, February 20th, 2007 at 4:24 pm and is filed under Seasonal Poetry.
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