The Exchange

February 26, 2018

Snow beats, muscles tighten. 
My sight blurs, my jaw chatters. 
I see the golden object approach. 
I scurry and start to sprint. 

 

He yells, “stick!” I reach my hand back, 
take it, and begin my race. 






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Poetgirl1 said...
today at 8:18 am
To me this poem has a double meaning and I love it. It has to do with running a relay race but to me I feel like it also has to do with running the race of life. Keep up the good work.
 
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