The Man on the Flying Snow Skis

Once I was happy
But now am forlorn,
And my ski outfit's
All tattered and torn,
The ski season's started
And winter is nigh,
But o'er the snow
I can no longer fly.

Oh, this sport that I love,
It's called skiing,
And I skiied the snow
Right off the hills.
No one ever dared
To ski behind me, no sir!
Because I took
So many spills!

Oh, he floats o'er the snow
With the greatest of ease,
The daring young man
Who can stick to his skis,
But I wasn't so lucky,
I'd fall to my knees,
And my face and
Some other place, too.

I got wet and caught cold,
I sniffled for weeks,
My nose was as bad
As a faucet that leaks.
My shins were all scraped
And my bones full of squeaks,
Alas, alack, and Alaska!
But I bravely went out
Every day -- storm or shine,
To do the tricks
On my shiny new skis.
Now the plaudits and scars
Of a hero are mine,
I can boast between
Each cough and sneeze.

Oh, I float through the air
With the greatest of ease,
You'd think me a man on
A flying trapeze.
I'm ever-so-graceful,
I don't even wheeze,
As I ride up the hill
On the tow!