Skiing and Bruises [Story Time]

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 : )