This is a poem I wrote while visualizing my daughter preparing to “fly” while cheerleading:
Facing the sun,
She climbs into waiting hands.
Counting, rehearsing, visualizing, she’s ready.
Quickly accelerating, bending, stretching, twisting, she flies.
Rolling, falling, waiting, she is caught.
Looking up, she hears the cheers,
She’s number one!
© 2007 Wade Brooks
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