A Race Through The Muck

A race was held between two men in an event that became quite grand.

They were the two fastest most athletic men, most esteemed throughout the land.

The length of the race was from one end of the kingdom to the other,

And the king’s stewards went before the men and carved a path ready for each runner

And when the day came of this grand and public event,

The Two men were readied, anxious, poised with victory their intent.

Now when word was given for the start, each dashed off like a gazelle

But no sooner they began than great challenges befell.

The trail they ran was rough, uneven, scattered all with stones.

And the cold air bit and froze, chilling each man deep down to his bones.

Then came forth the winds, and the torrents of loud thunder shout,

Next followed rain that poured down like a floodgate letting its water out.

The rain pelted down so fierce that the trail dirt turned to muck,

And each man’s feet grew heavy as the sludge to their shoes was stuck.

Both men soon carried half their weight in dark and heavy sludge,

And each man looked in desperation for a small tree, or hut for them to lodge.

Not far ahead they saw a rock carved out with space for them to shelter,

And both took refuge underneath, finding rest and waiting out the rain’s pelter.

There in The stillness, in this small safety from the storm

The two men were both quiet, til one spoke up in great alarm:

“How could they do this, and make such a poor decision!”

The one man bellowed out in boisterous, loud derision.

“Could the king’s men not have cleared our path of jagged scattered rock?

Or chose a day where mother nature's wrath does not so fiercely mock?

I for one refuse to go further, our lives are forfeit on this path!”

But the other man sat still, quietly watching the storm in all its wrath.

And so the one decided, and ventured back the way he came,

Walking slowly and begrudging through torrential wind and rain.

But the other continued onward and stuck stalwart to the trail,

Despite the rocks, the rain, and the whipping winds that ever wail.

And to him who kept on running, to finish out his stake

The sun came out again and dried up the muck that caked.

And in continuing to run, the muck turned back to dirt,

And slowly fell off piece by piece and fell back unto the earth.

And upon returning in his victory, he then went back unto his abode.

The only thing he’d longed for along the fearsome road.

But when the townsfolk met the one who'd turned and grumbled his way back,

His reception was ignominious because of the effort that he'd slacked.

Thus he too went home, and to his hut he shamefully snuck,

And he never was quite able to clean his shoes of all the muck.