The Final Round Poem by John F. McCullagh

Once he floated; now he stumbles, he struggles for each breath.
It's like the rumble in the jungle but Ali has little left.
His opponent is relentless, stalking him around the ring.
Is it Liston? Is it Foreman? Who has come to box the king?
Judging from the foe's ferocity - is the specter Smoking Joe?
Ali does his best to counter his opponent's crushing blows.
His eyes are nearly swollen shut, but the boxer never cries.
Who thought that Death would come for him in this macabre disguise?
He tries to dance but falters; feeling weakness in his knees.
He feels the K.O. coming as he's succumbing by degrees.
Ali tumbles to the canvas, he hears the count begin.
but when you fight a bout with Death you never hear the "Ten".