Sitting down silently so my younger son doesn't know I'm
there, hearing two little boys call him a four-eyed geek.
Totally ignoring their remarks my son kept on running; as
he passed by on his second time around the field, seeing
the two boys just walking, all tired out.
Still running, passing them up again, they quit and he
kept on going, loping around, finishing all eight laps
by himself.
Everyone else had quit, they were too tired to make the
mile, so much for those two little bullies as everyone
else cheered and patted my son on the back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem