A simple object, black and round,
A hockey puck, now ready to be found.
Born in a factory, made with care,
Destined for greatness, a hero to bear.
Laid on the ice, with a gleam so bright,
It waits for the players, ready to take flight.
With sticks and skates, they take their place,
The puck's journey to greatness, now begins to trace.
With a flick of the wrist, the puck takes flight,
Speeding across the ice, so fast and so bright.
A dance of skill and precision, in this frozen game,
The hockey puck at the center, it's all the same.
A twirl and a spin, a shot at the goal,
The crowd on their feet, with a roar so bold.
The puck slides into the net, a perfect score,
A moment of glory, that's what this puck is for.
Back and forth it goes, from end to end,
In the hands of the players, a story to bend.
With each strike and save, it proves its worth,
A hockey puck in action, a symbol of the earth.
So, next time you see it, remember this tale,
Of the simple black object, that always prevails.
For in the game of hockey, it's a hero we see,
A hockey puck, so unassuming, yet so full of glee.
