The track lies before us, hot and sticky ad black,
as the sun beats down on it.
We stretch and shake our muscles, preparing for the race.
Then a teammate calls from the sideline,
and we turn to hear what's said.
The gun sounds, and they're off,
but we have missed the mark.
Satan runs ahead of us, tripping all who pass.
Our task is hampered, our hearts depressed.
Had we not diverted our focus, fewer would be lost.
So when you're tempted to fall behind,
remember first, to count the cost.
11/4/1997
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