A skater lone soars on new ice.
I hold my breath as I observe
His every pirouette and swerve.

Yesterday, the water lapped a chilling shore;
Today a brilliant skin holds sway.
Thickening hourly though it may,

I wonder at the nature of the glider there;
Does he consider life and death,
Or think beyond exultant breath

To be the first upon new winter's ice?
He sails along an ice-blade track,
Never falt'ring, never looking back.

Oh, I was young upon a time and flew
The way this skater now does fly,
But fear and "wisdom" hinder twice
While others soar above thin ice.