There's not a doubt in anyone's mind
Who runs first through that richly checkered line
While some fall far; Farther behind
crouching in their shadows
because they need a place to hide
and
While a clock spins off in reminiscing frenzy-
a weeping widow cries
even a father of three. . . fights to survive.
And every blink of the eye
is another tick of the clock:
so hang on to the small hand
and enjoy the lively but slow ride.