I’ve just come back from skiing in Switzerland. It was amazing. And by ‘it’ I refer to Switzerland and the postcard-like prettiness of the snow-clad chalets, and the breath-taking wonder of the mountains. But my skiing? Ah. Well. Let me put it in really bad poetry for you:
you’d never guess but i became
a speed demon on twin instruments of pain
it was hard to turn so i did not
and skied straight down ’till i stopped
i might have bumped my noggin
i might have bruised my hip
i might have lost a camara
when on those slopes i slipped
it didn’t happen all at once
and i thought i wasn’t bad
but down the red i did speed
and on the blue i flew
soon, anon, i’d find myself
spread-eagled on the ground
and all my dignity and all my pride
were nowhere to be found
i’d be left with laughter
and a little bit of pain
but i’d say it was worth it
and was jolly glad i’d came
Forgive me for this butchering of poetry; I’m sure Poe would groan and invoke a raven.
Have a great weekend : )
3 thoughts on “Skiing and Bruises [Story Time]”
Poe: …”Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.””
So … is your skiing “Nevermore”?
Will you be sticking to sledding?
Loved your post!!
… Such fun!
Yes. Tobogganing shall be my new winter sport 😀