1995 poems
These three follow from May 5, 1979 (revised Nov. 30, 1995):
The Day Will Come
The day will come (it comes to all)
When aching knees and dimming eyes
Decree the end of curling days, -- and call
A halt to icy trials and warm room lies.
Then shall I sit and dream my dreams
Of curling feats long past in time
When stones ran true, or so it seems
(To dream it so can be no crime!).
I'll watch you all at icy trade
And tell my tales to all who'll hear
Of stones well laid and shots I've made,
Of games I've played and friends so dear.
The toss of coin at start of play,
The running stone, the draw well-swept,
The drinks and talk at end of play,
I'll miss them all, the memories I've kept.
But when some day I meet my fate
Of reaper grim and tolling bell,
I'll meet Saint Pete at Pearly Gate
To teach the game I've loved so well!
The Curler's Game
Two games there are in curler's play
That differ much as night from day.
The one depends on gentle draws and hiding stones
The other on moving other player's stones.
The draw game is the gentler game.
A game of quiet touch, a sweepers' game,
It needs a skip whose practiced eye can glide
Over the house for spots his stones to hide.
The take-out game is one of might,
Where others' stones are knocked from sight,
For stones not there can't yeild a score.
In truth it needs a skip who's out for gore!
Two styles there are in purest term,
But skips there are who quickly learn:
To mix them both into the game
Is needed most to win him fame.
Curling Fever
I must go back to the rink again, to an icy rink in the sky,
And all I ask is a good stone and a broom to guide it by
And the skip's cry, and the broom's slap and a true stone running
And a big smile on the skip's face at the long sweep's ending.
I must go back to the rink again, for the call of the roaring game
Is a wild call and a clear call I can ne'er resist or disclaim
And all I ask is a keen sheet, with the red brooms waiting,
And the tossed stone and the broom's slap and a tense skip waiting.
I must go back to the rink again, to the site of the roaring game
To the skip's call and the rock's fall and the ice is ne'er the same,
And all I ask is a close game from my fellow curling lover
And quiet talk in the warming room when the long game's over.
Read Ed White's 1996 Curling Poems
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