The ice is so glazed and sparkling, other cuttings not so much,

In turn they slip or slide, in turn they waltz or drop,

Why is it artificial yet seems so pure?

Why is it for earth's natural substance's we don't care for anymore?


Blades' can scuff or scratch the ice, other cuttings at cente of the rink not so much,

See we all follow around and around in circles like a merry-go-round;

In turn we all go up and in turn we all go down,

We spin around and around in circles or on the spot,

We can get too cold from this yet we can get too hot?


There are youngsters gathered at the side flicking and kicking the ice,

There are even younger ones being encouraged  by their elders,

And there is a couple skating, mating following each other with glee,

They hold hands so close and so tight, never to let go even when they fight,

For together they spin around and around like a merry-go-tound,

They ignore the nonsense from the icy playground.


All they see and all they care is for one and another, whilst they skate over the ice,

The ice now gleams and pushes their blades, held them as a spectactle for everyone to see,

They skate so well and so merrily.

They dance and laugh and spin,

The ice suudenly begins to crack, it begins to crack,

The ice has been broken, yet it has shown their joy hidden within.



The End

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