The starting pistol cracks:
Now there's no going back.
My thoughts are collected.
The air is pure electric.
My soul is alive
With determination and drive.
My muscles are burning.
To win, I am yearning.
I'm taking the strain.
I'm feeling the pain.
I've a burning desire.
My lungs are on fire.
I've got something to prove.
My performance is smooth.
In my ears, my breath's loud,
As is the noise of the crowd.
The crowd, they are cheering.
The end, I'm now nearing.
My heart is full of pride,
As I take my final strides.
I reach the finishing line,
And the victory is all mine.
My medal I now hold -
And, yes, it's the GOLD!
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Comments about this poem (The Runner by Angela Wybrow )
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(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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