The Kettle Moraine 100
The genesis of a hundred-mile odyssey
A happy little caravan of running crows
Everything is alive, sky wind, even the stones
Hearts taping time, glittering with hope
Morning comes the murder has thinned
Smiles replaced by blood blister and grit
The flesh is battered, bitten and minced
The mind has played a million dirty tricks
The odyssey has demanded its toll once again
Finish line, just beyond the shimmering glade
where a jingle of tears and medals await.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2018
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