Number One Poem by Ray Clune
Number One
Kneeling, poised, contemplating.
Years in training, no more waiting.
Pistol fires, you're on your way.
This is your moment, today is the day.
Muscular, skeletal symbiosis.
To win the gold your own prognosis.
Suppress all fears and quell emotions.
Athletes in perfect fluid motions.
You've hit your peak, as intended.
Finish in sight, race almost ended.
Dip for the tape, on your chest it snaps.
Resounding cheers and thunderous claps.
It's you, you did it.
You are the one.
The New Olympic Champion.
I like the poem gives a feeling of what may be like to be in a race
that you have spent time preparing for.
I also like the way the poem harks back to a bygone age where starting pistols and finish line tape are used.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 11:04:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Great poem - lets hope GB wins a good many golds! !