Though whilst in Lincoln, I neglect steep hill,
there’s still some screaming, from my heels,
for task segmentation, surely leaves it’s mark,
as my arches and toes, have on them some scars.
I dash around here, and I dash around there,
while; not giving, my two flat friends much care,
as things need completing, in the rain and the sun,
so let me, the tubby ginger lad, get the work done.
I become like a Proclaimer, many miles I do walk,
endeavouring with zeal, not to child-like sulk,
in parallel existences, my list is checked off,
as well; as my feet, bleeding in my socks.
Thus, call me Blood-Foot, where masked grimace is made,
let their muted screaming, continue in the shade,
but, when the errands, naturally come to their end,
my meaty bases, have assuredly, earned their mend.