Last Leg Poem by Olufayo Ezekiel

He who runs,
Must never look back.

He who relays against masquerade,
Must not get tired.

He who races,
Must graze the podium.

For gold, for silver,
For bronze or nothing.

The last trip decides gains,
Of the past trips and future years.

The cactus are still thirsty,
The traps are still trapping.

But, like an athlete avoiding 'bstacles,
Am running with time.

In the sun, the wet, the dry and the starve have been panged all seasons.

Now is not for rest,
For the abode is still far.

Last leg, best strive,
for my rewards must reach my Rome.