November 2, 2003


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    When I blog       I stink with runner’s sweat,
    I sit on dirt    and roll on grass,


    I rest my tired jogging ass,


    And play with words, and play with words.


     


    When I run      I feel like I’m at play,
    Like it’s the only     fun thing to do,
    And stopping short just isn’t cool,


    Then thoughts arise to my surprise.


     


    When I think       I ponder unspent love,


    And wonder if     someday we’ll meet


    Bumping wayward on a lonesome street,


    Or just fall like leaves by fate to earth.

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