The Thrill Of The Slope Poem by George Howard

over the ice, over the snow,
faster and faster and faster we go
missing the rock, the branch and the tree
feeling the surge of excitement, with glee
faster and faster, upward and on,
over the mountain and into the sun
shooting the overhang, down to the slope,
just missing a climber, hung on a rope
gathering speed now, off and away,
no chance to see things, no time to stay
what must the speed be, eighty it might
adrenalin rushing, senses alight
onward and downward, close to the end,
skimming a crevice, sweeping a bend
people appearing left and right,
pulling up quickly, causing a fright
the ‘buzz' of the ski slope, you cannot compare
nothing quite like it a thrilling affair