1The dawn's early riser,
Awaiting my time,
To show that this girl,
Can glow in one twirl,
Wishing the past time to grand.
I lace up my skates as quick as a bee,
The cool winter nipping close at my knee,
The playground is quiet,
The warm house all bare,
The sled hill is shedding,
Its cold icy stare.
Ice is inviting,
Calling me in,
Telling me how,
How lonely I've been.
Looking out,
At my waiting crowd,
The trees and the bushes,
They rustle,
Telling me "Now".
I trace a figure eight,
The clock not ticking,
Time is all mine,
No moment is lost,
Just me and my ice,
Not lonely or torn.
I smile as I spiral,
With the greatest of ease,
The backward cross-overs are as easy as could be.
Picking up speed,
I race across the ice,
Draw out one foot,
Now pull it in tight,
Arms all ablur,
I pull them in too,
Pick up a foot,
And tilt my head back through.
My ice guides me through it,
He's an old pro,
Like Michelle Kwan's Frank Carol,
And Choreographer too.
My speed is increasing,
I fly around the track,
The smile as it broadens,
Does not trip a tack.
Here is my moment,
It could be my last chance,
The ice,
I can taste it,
It's a mural of my time and hope,
The Pinnacle of the dawn.
My hands are cold,
My feet are numb,
I clench my smile upright,
I swiftly spread all of me out as I throw myself into the air,
For a splint second the ice calls me back,
And soon I am there,
Once again tracing an eight in a backwards spiral,
One side toe hop,
And here I am,
At a complete stop.
My eyes fill with tears,
My hands go up,
My shoulders burst with pain,
My ankles are soon to bust,
My smile widens again,
Despite the honest pain.
A sob of joy pierces the ringing silence,
My ice understands.
It doesn't matter what I'd win,
World Titles or Olympic Gold's wouldn't do,
That one moment tucked in time,
That's my trophy,
What about you?
The color in the sunrise,
Fills my soul with glee,
The morning breeze is cold you see,
But it doesn't bother me.
My ice has worked its magic,
We are good as one,
I hear my crowd cheering,
In its own true song.
The trees whisper to me,
Telling me "How Proud",
The bushes chant their lyric,
A sweet yet solemn friend.
Can you hear the music,
Coming to an end?
It Signals now "Your time is up",
Yet, it's hard to leave right then.
I bowed once,
Then turned around,
I force myself to go,
I raise my foot and set it down,
Now on boot packed snow,
I can almost hear the music end as
The other one leaves the ice, too.
Now I know one thing for sure,
The magic is through,
Until the moment I glide with this friend,
In the calm of the morning,
With no interruptions,
For those brief moments alone,
The magic will live in me.