He glided like a god;
As smooth & clinical
As a knife through butter.
He was as quick as a gazelle:
A master of challenging turns,
Shallow dips and flats.
I still see him shining,
Through the grey mists of time.
In bold red and gold:
A solitary superstar
Straining to the limits,
Amidst the vast whiteness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem