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Thursday, August 26, 2010

No words will come but an old poem I have read several times lately...

This is one of my all time favorite poems that I cut out of a book on the history of the Boston Marathon. My mother gave me the book back in the early 90's when I was running marathons and triathalons. It tells of a marathoner who was taken suddenly in the prime of his life and I thought it always captured the true spirit of the marathon and the special people it takes to be dedicated to a pursuit like the great Boston race. In these last few days it has brought tears to my eyes because it is reminds me of Sheila's own champion spirit, how she lived her life and how dear she was to all who met her.     aafe+10

                   Pat Dengis

Ah, little we thought as he hurried past
That the die of fate was already cast
And that he was running his final race
Though the hue of health was upon his face:
As he swept in view with a gallant zeal
And answered the challenger at his heel
It was plain to see by his twisted grin
He was claimed by all though he might not win.

How he liked to run in the wind and rain
With a boundless vim he could not restrain
Though never the laurel of brief renown
Might his brow adorn with a victor's crown
And his heart was seared with a mighty thirst
That could not be stayed till he entered first
But the Fates stepped in and they flogged his pride
Till he lost his pace and he stood denied.

O' the shot shall herald a braver start
But it shall not liven that stiffened heart

For the span of life is a thinning thread
And the conquered and conquerer soon are read:
But to those who dream in the haunts of yore
And to those whose senses are quick to score
He'll come sweeping down like a hurricane
With the gods that were in his swirling train.

                                               --Fred Griffin

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