Charles L. Weatherford


He moves with grace as he dances on skates.
The ice beneath him mirrors every move.
High leaps, twirls and somersaults tempt the fates,
While the applause shows the watchers approve.

He speeds down the slope on slivers of wood
At a speed to make an Indy team blush.
Still he’d go faster, if ever he could,
Because he thinks it the ultimate rush.

He flies through the air with grace and with ease,
Seemingly born where snow falls from the sky.
Swooping down to the ground landing on skis,
He glides to a stop with grace to apply.

He glides down the slope and back up again.
Flying above the rim, he twists in air,
His board rising above like a shark’s fin.
Back down, and up, and over with no care.

These are the masters of kinetic arts,
Stylishly gliding, flying and spinning.
They live on training and very stout hearts
Until time makes them live new beginnings.