A Racers Words Poem by Harold R Hunt Sr

A Racers Words



A Racers Words
Oh shed no tears it makes hard to steer.
As this racer comes so dear.
As I enter turn one I see what I have done.
On to turn two this is something new.
Racing in to turn three is now no breeze.
I come to turn four there will be no more.
I now stand at the wall that has taken
those to fall.
I watch the new racer who will set the pace.
'So on to the finishline, Oh son of mine

Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: race
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