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RUMBLING THROUGH A RACE



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RUMBLING THROUGH A RACE

It was in my youth, I was ten or twelve, And the time was half-past nine; The sun had set and the moon had yet To show her silver shine. It was really just a child's game, Some sort of tag and run; But we chased through the woods as best we could And the darkness fueled the fun. I was picking my way through the undergrowth That tried to bind my knees, When, in the dark, I heard the snap Of footsteps through the trees. ""Ah HA! At last! I've got you now!"" I shouted toward the sound; When came the roar of a wild boar I began to cover ground! I was slowed in flight by the blackened night And, as in a dreaded dream, The way to go I did not know And I could not think to scream. With all my might at the speed of fright I made each lunging stride; I strained and groped and simply hoped To save my youthful hide. That was long ago, but even now That memory comes to mind As life gets packed with problems And I look about to find That, like that night, I'm stripped of sight And rumbling through a race With improvised decision made As problems come to face. Deciding where to plant my feet Just inches from the sod And wishing for a surer path, One lined with guiding rod. A trail to true stability, A sense that all is right; That gives a man a proven plan And lends a guiding light. Mid-stride I stop, to my knees I drop, And the wise will understand, That in life's race the quickest pace Is set by those who plan. And so I seek direction From a tried and proven source; The Master's voice can guide each choice As I glide along the course
Wes Stephenson

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