This bending, stretching, winding country road
I’ve run it twenty thousand times or more
Sun-warmed, snow-veiled, it’s born my constant load
Of joys and worries, it’s all been before.
Gel heels, gel toes, my arch from asphalt lifts
In-in, out-out, my breath is regular
From this routine I hope to never drift
Or lose this sense of deeper metaphor.
Sometimes I like to run a different road
Though similar, there’s always more to see
I’ve loved each grimy path that I’ve bestrode
Though hot and sore, as many’d never be.
I feel a burn in calf and knee and thigh
But I must run… without this I would die.