Posted by BEN MWOL on
All that's life's a relay distance that we"re
Striding the worlds track batoning.
If luck be for you,
The round ends in five seven thousand two four zero meters
But if the wit of a chance charm is on a man
His circle covers in four zero thousand six zero meters
From the start,
An ebullient man goes round the track
Sucking the piquant-sour taste of yells and hells
And handle to another and another to another to the others
Goes the exchange goes
Yet any least of rounds one"s given is worth praise to the giver
While those that exchange the baton
Emitted to memory's use
Another one resumed.
Like the generation of shrubs
That goes extinct in winter
And burgeon at summer
By the time a man"s feet halted
At the echelon start
He would have been caught
Dreaming in a dream that life"s
So distanced by a distant eternity
Like the claim of a fool"s life.