During the biennial cleaning of
My bedroom, I found an old roller skate.
It was covered in stickers, without mate,
And I wondered from what age it had come.
It brought me to a time when I could shove
Past my parents, I would not hesitate
To jump into the rink and start to skate
Soaring, gliding like a newly freed dove.
Yet now I am surrounded by white walls
And stark light. The pink skate no longer fits.
My youth may be gone, but I hear bird calls
Returning is something time never permits.
So for now I will put the skate back on the shelf
But keep a sticker for my former self.
