Sledding Relived

Puffing and gasping to the top of the slope;
white and cold coaxes, calls to the thrill;
the effort seems nothing to realize the hope,
the speed to be sped from the verge of the hill.

Toboggan or sled, whatever--a box,
once we've tasted acceleration's increase.
Repeating the run will call us in flocks;
watch out for others on trail, or for trees.

Our back-looking eyes, as grandchildren we view,
lift the scope of the present to yesterday,
when the thrill of gliding was novel and new,
in fancy ride with them, their fearless way.

Would I trudge up the hill, for a chance to slide down?
I'd have to think twice; Would you take my hand,
as I climb back up? Your turn to look around,
for an escape, I guess, but it would be grand.