THEY say he lives on hard, black bread, With a very little fish, And a herring with an onion seems, To him, a festal dish. He drinks a little water, then He hustles forth to win— He makes them look like signposts, The whizzing, flying Finn! His legs are steel and rubber, His feet just skim the track— They get a view, in transit, Of his bony, sinewy back— The gun cracks—and they're started— But the race is done and "in"— A fine, fat chance to conquer The bounding, flying Finn! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CELEBRATION ODE by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN TO CHILDREN: 2. BRAGGARTS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THOU LIGHT OF LIFE by BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY by ROBERT BURNS TEN YEARS HAVE PASSED; ON VIEWING WAR GRAVES AT VERDUN, 1928 by DON MAITLAND BUSHBY THE PEOPLE by TOMASSO CAMPANELLA DE CUNJAH MAN by JAMES EDWIN CAMPBELL TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. TO ONE IN TROUBLE by EDWARD CARPENTER |