I have found, without any doubt,
I am no marathon man,
as I squint to see one ahead
who's breached the nine-hundred yard mark,
leaving sure-footed impressions
in the infinite beach shore sand;
while, my breathing is convulsing
into a strange, worrisome bark,
I'm afraid I'll soon keel over
in the tide, to be left to die;
in a ragged awe, I wonder,
" How the Hell does he run so fast?
At that kind of determined pace,
I would swear he could almost fly."
Me, I'm just happy not to fall,
and have my lot, again, re-cast.