Skating to Zen

When I ice skate I feel old fashioned and dainty. Something about it is charmingly wholesome and inherently wintery; like we are all swirling snow flakes on the ice.
My mind also wanders well. Wrote a po'em 'bout it. Like t'hear it? Here it go.

Winter Music
The vast expanse of white and lead,
The frozen exhaled mist descends
And joins the drift
Along the bank.
She wears a circle with her skate,
Debates the icy hand of fate.
Uninterrupted haze above
Continues as it blurs the field,
Broken by the scion of
The guard of aspen's ashen shield.
Every view is just of these;
The absence of all color peace,
And yet the ribbon in her head
Is red, is red, is red, is red.