The Ecphorizer
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I plod along as best I can. Thinking miles ahead. Oh, I'll be happy when I'm done. If I don't before drop dead. I've run ten miles. I'm bushed and beat. My legs are getting sore. It's tough to think I must go on for only sixteen more. I'm halfway home and then five miles. Only eight to go. I really wonder what I'm doing and I just don't know. The finish line. I now know why I go out to compete. It's so tomorrow I can brag about my aching feet. ![]() Pavement-pounding poet PAUL MOORE composed "A Marathon" while running. "Which either lends a certain authenticity or an excellent excuse," he writes. Run some more by us, Paul. |
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