A children's race--- young boys ,young men---How I remember well.
Excitement sure! but also Fear; It wasn't hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win that race.
Or tie for first , or if not first , Atleast take second place.
And fathers watched from off the side, Each cheering for his son.
And each boy hoped to show his dad that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they went, Young hearts and hopes afire.
To win and be the hero there was each young boy's desire.
And one boy in particular,Whose dad was in the crowd,Was running near the lead and thought:
"My Dad will be so proud"
But as they sped down the field, across a shallow dip
The little boy who thought to win lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, His hands flew out to brace.
But mid the laughter of the crowd, He fell flat on his face.
So down he fell and with him hope, He couldn't win it now--
Embarassed, sad ,he only wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up,And showed his anxious face, Which to the boy so clearly said
"Get up and win the race, My boy"
He quickly rose , no damage done, Behind a bit , that's all---
And ran with all his might and mind, To make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, To catch up and to win--
His mind went faster than his legs; He slipped and fell again!
He wished then he had quit before, With only one disgrace.
"I am hopeless as a runner now. I shouldn't try to race"
But in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face: That steady look which said again:
" Get up and win the race, My boy"
So up he jumped to try again , Ten yards behind the last
"If I'm to gain those yards" he thought. "I've got to move real fast"
Exerting everything he got , He regained eight or ten.
But trying so hard to catch the lead he slipped and fell again!
Defeat he lay there silently. A Tear dropped from his eye---
"There's no sense trying anymore; Three strikes: I'm out why try?"
The Will to rise had disappeared; All hope had fled away.
So far behind. So error prone. A loser all the way.
"I've lost so what's the use " he thought. "I'll live with my disgrace"
But then he thought about his dad , whom soon he'd have to face
"Get up " an echo sounded low.
"Get up and take your place. You were not meant for failure here. Get up and win the race."
"With borrowed will get up" it said, "You haven't lost at all .For winning is no more than this:
To rise each time you fall"
So up he rose to run once more , And With a new commit.
He resolved that win or lose, Atleast he wouldn't quit.
So far behind the others now, The most he'd ever been--
Still he gave it all he had , And ran as though to win.
Three times he had fallen stumbling. Three times he had rosen again;
Too far behind to hope to win , He still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning runner ,as he crossd the line first place.
Head high , and proud, and happy; No falling ,no disgrace.
But when the fallen youngster crossed the line last place
The crowd gave him the greatest cheer, For finishing the race.
And even though he came in last. with head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he'd won the race To listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said "I didn't do too well".
"To me you won" he said.
"You rose each time you fell".
For all of life is like that race, With ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is
Rise each time you fall.