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.