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The swamp it surely thundered with the sound of many feet
As down deer paths we rumbled, each trying to stave off defeat
Boggy bottomed boys bumbling through the foggy morn
Impervious to pain from the briars that flesh tore

The line did serpentine through armadillos and great snakes
And the marching, charging runners caused the everglade to shake
Prize goes to the swiftest, as is usually the case
There can be but one sole winner in our mooish race

Fear I am no contender in this chasing game
Wearily I hobble as I hang my head in shame
Gone are days of glory, time has stripped me of my youth
Bystanders call out encouragement but do not speak the truth

Four hundred race before me, twenty score lag behind
My performance may be average but it’s not sublime
Many will not leave the comfort of their soft and cozy beds
But I hope to keep on striving until day that I am dead

Finish line appears and it’s just in the nick of time
My knees are protesting my lungs are in decline
But calling to me, “Faster!” is my wife and son
They may have run more quickly but each of us has won

For though there are no medals for middle of the pack
I’m really pleased as punch not to have had a heart attack
So don’t just sit there listening to my silly song
Get your ass up and moving out in world where you belong!

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