A boy's first ski run with his father

A Rubaiyat about a journey down the slopes.

A wind-whipped hill of downy white,
Caressed by chilly radiant light
Across my path does seem to glide
As sharpened skis bring downward flight.

A flit, a hop, a grinding slide,
Now nearly tumbling to the side;
While just within my powdery wake
A father’s eyes look on in pride.

The sun glints off the nearby lake
And burns my eyes and makes me quake.
With furrowed brow I push my way
Along this path I dared to take.

I’ve left my fears so far away
As finally at the base we stay,
The sunlit mountain seems to say,
A journey’s end, a perfect day.

16 Lines