The 100 Meter Breaststroke

Anticipation seizing him, The swimmer stoops to grip his block, All ready for that single beep That will begin the clock. When sounds the note he pushes off And enters with a dolphin's grace. His streamlined form he holds not long- He breaks the water's face. With thrust and pull his arms do move While legs move round in frog-like kick; He keeps his rhythm strong and sure As time doth onward tick. When that first lap comes to an end Fatigue begins to show her face, For he must turn and swim again To finish off the race. The final leg seems oh so hard; His tired form now screams for air But he must swim his fastest now To see how he will fare. Soon he comes quickly speeding in While timers pose to stop the clock; Long fingers stretched out firm do hit The wall without a bawk. He gasps for air while he now waits For those behind. Inside him springs Up Joy and Peace, from which the cry, "You did your best," doth ring.