Monday, November 04, 2013

Frisbee Poet

There once was a poem about Ultimate; decades later, a Frisbee poem by a poet.

Let's Not Play Frisbee with that Poet Anymore by Stephen Collins
Unloosed, unheralded.
You soar toward me
Across the dying afternoon.
Bright disc of childhood,
Long since thrown wide
Of youth's green imaginings,
Your slow declining arc
Figures a sky-written truth:
We will all succumb, and soon
To earth's hard oblivion.

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