The Rose and the Ice

In the clearing where the morning stays, Isa walks in gentle ways. She knows the weight each season brings, The ties between all living things. She teaches children of the land That every game begins with hand— With fair respect and steady grace, Not every win is first place. For hockey is more than clash and fight, It is a school of heart and sight. On frozen ground, both women stand And men alike, hand in hand. Beneath the red, so true, so bright, Beats courage born of rightful might. Isa knows, and softly shows: True strength walks straight where conscience goes. She braids red roses in her hair, Marks of effort freely shared. She says the game is truly just When it uplifts the brave and trust. To girls she says: the ice is wide, This game is yours—step forth with pride. Hockey builds both faith and voice, It is no one else’s choice. For hockey is more than clash and fight, It is a school of heart and sight. On frozen ground, both women stand And men alike, hand in hand. Beneath the red, so true, so bright, Beats courage born of rightful might. Isa knows, and softly shows: True strength walks straight where conscience goes. She promises no hollow fame, No easy win, no careless gain. But fertile roads where effort grows, Where blades of steel meet honest toes. She says: play true, play side by side, Win without crushing those nearby. Hockey is great when it unites, And lasts when it remains humane. Yes, hockey is more than clash and fight, It is a vow we keep in sight. When women carve their lines in ice, The future forms in bold advice. Beneath the red, so true, so bright, A fairer world is drawn outright. Isa watches—Minstrel sings, So what is just remains through things.