wordsout
The
sailing of the ark < 3
of 45 >
3
Balding,
overweight, at night I plod
the roads of W5 and W13,
a
three-mile token gesture of a run,
dreaming of perfect mortal fitness,
dreaming
that round the edge of
I shall one day run and not grow weary.
Jesus
kept fit by walking, I suppose—
he never had a desk job, or grew old. I can recall
the
day you left All Souls I met your father,
slow and wrinkled, as became his age—
yet
once I heard the wireless commentary
on the 1936 Olympic Final
with
your dad leading for six hundred
metres
then fading, Lovelock coming through to win.
run and not grow weary cf Isaiah 40:31.
.