Along with you I now will wax poetic,
As you cast your spell upon this bleak canal
Revealing the beauty of the beaten trail,
Rendering me, in the truest sense, lunatic.
A reluctant runner, no—I am no more;
I am again a huntress as of old.
I dash about, bright, brazen, beaming, bold:
Forgotten fancy, myth of maiden lore.
The race against this ever-retreating foe,
O’ertakes my mind and unburdens my breath
Reviving the routine I’d run to death
To recreate the route I’ve come to know—
The dirt beneath me churns to ancient clay
As Diana turns drear daily tread to play.
(Less seriously… How is my poetry like my running? Both have uneven feet! *ba-dum-tss*)