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Rated: E · Poetry · Sports · #2165910
Observations of the country

I went out running this afternoon, for a spritely jog,

Down the Plantation Road, to clear the head of fog.

The legs, they take a while to heat, the heart it was fast pumpin,

By the time I got to Gilford, my mood it was jumping.

1 and 2 the breathing goes, to the rhythm of my legs,

Its times like this that I really wish, I was longer off the fegs.

I pass the fingerpost on the edge, on the edge of the small town,

My heart is starting to beat normal, and I’m not slowing down.

I take the first left I find, at the end of Connors Row,

The incline changes rapidly, as up the hill I go.

I leave the road, onto a path, full of rocks and stones,

I pity off road runners, cos this is tough on the bones.

I reach the top without a stop (okay! I stopped just once!)

I’m training for the marathon, in less than two months.

I’ve already ran a mile and a half, and climbed quite a long drag,

The thing at the forefront of my mind is the long, slow pull of a fag.

‘Go away’, I tell this thought, ‘would you ever leave me alone!?’

You’ve already owned me for sixteen years, now find someone else to own.

I push on over the brow of the hill, and back onto the road,

My heart, it’s pumping fast again, ready to explode.

As I run down Hunters Hill, I regulate my breathing,

I pick up the speed once again, my calf muscles are heaving.

Past Patterson’s’ oil, and Smiths horses, I veer over to the right,

Onto the Ballymacanallen Road, I push with all my might.

I hear the birds that chirp with glee, you can’t see them with ease,

But they sing along those charming tunes, with only each other to please.

I say ‘hello’ to any dog that barks, praying they can’t get out!

Especially that old Alsatian, of whom I have no doubt.

Along this quiet stretch of road, the hills they seem quite long,

The corners and bends along the way, make sure you can’t go wrong.

I spot a car, and I pull in, to let it pass on by,

Grateful of a quick reprieve, my throat appears quite dry.

I jog on past the brand new houses, that are beautifully situated,

Twas only ten short years ago, this was sparsely populated.

Dogs, and rabbits, and Horses and cows, sheep and much much more,

Are on display for all to see, wildlife to the core.

I am grateful that I find myself, living away from the town,

The greens and blossoms of spring-time are everywhere to be found.

Again I touch to Hunters Hill, take left in direction of home.

Pass oul Charlie’s once again, think of Marie, all alone.

Up the last hill and then down once more, I find it quite surprising,

I hate a steep downhill run; I’d rather have it rising.

Back down the flat, last stretch to home, I pass the home of Billy Greene,

Soon to be sold and demolished, it’ll never again be seen.

I reach the gate, and have a stretch; I can feel the burn in my legs,

They wouldn’t be half as strong, if it wasn’t for scrambled eggs.

I jump in the shower to wash off the sweat, and put on fresh clean clothes,

Looking forward to the next run, along those beautiful country roads.

Seamas MacFhearchair 19-3-17
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