The Runner Poem by fade ward

The Runner

It’s a Saturday morning
The runner wakes
Put his volley’s on
And eats his breaky
With milk splashing on his wheat bix
He is at fast realising that he needs to be gone
Leaving in a great rush the runner
Races the sun to the edge of the forest
Shadow darkened area that layed behind him
Rays of the sun catches up to the runner
This race will be close this morning is cold breezed
Air slowing him down the shadows can do that but realising
That it’s just a joke he overtakes the path of light
Leaving the rays of the sun in his dusty foot steps
The edge of the forest is less then a few hundred metres away
The sun catches up its right on top of the runner reaching the edge of the forest they leave at the same time it’s a draw guided by his light realising that even
The best can be slowed turns toward his friend and says say time tomorrow morning