In the chill of winter’s breath,
On frozen fields they glide and dance,
Skates carve lines, a fleeting trance,
Beneath the stars, they find romance.

With sticks in hand, they chase the dream,
Pucks that fly on ice’s gleam,
Each pass and shot, a perfect scheme,
Amidst the roar, a silent team.

Helmets clash in fierce embrace,
Yet in their hearts, there’s no disgrace,
For every bruise, they find a place,
In the game they love, they find their grace.

As the final horn does sound,
Victories and losses found,
They leave the ice, no longer bound,
Until the next time they astound.