Seven times his tired feet stumbled,
as many times he hefted body erect,
he pushed himself to step again forward.
Unsteady, onward, stumbling he went,
but goal was always large in sight,
he walked though tired and wavered not.
To the left and right defeated souls
lay crying in their loss of spirit,
their legs refusing to endure the pain.
The end unmeasured, speed not required,
the race might end at any moment,
the movers winners all declared.