Not everyone can be a winner.
Someone has to finish last
In races run, in battles won
and lost
Before the home crowd stands.
Beaten and demoralized,
The hurt reflected in his
eyes
Contrasts the winner's open sighs
Who realizes all his plans.
Consolation offers little
comfort
To the heavy heart
That Glory's torch eludes
And passes shameless to
another's hand.
And although given credit
For a valiant effort on the
way,
Deep inside the mind is
saddled
With a cross; a loser's
brand.
Not to quibble, not to wallow
In the mire of pity's sand;
Though I may not be the
winner,
I will be the best I can.
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