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untitiled
October 23, 2017
I dash down slopes. The wind tickles my face, hair and hat, soaring past.
Multiple moguls next. Over four, five, the sun shines. I fly.
Then, I tumble. Skis and poles vanish. People stare. I go down.
© Sarah M., Westport, CT
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This is written in a Korean poetic form called Sijo.