It’s How You Run Your Race

By Edna Henke

When he ran across the finish line, there arose a mighty din,

For the little lad who finished last, yet tried so hard to win.

The crowd went crazy cheering for this dusty little man

Who didn’t have a chance for first no matter how he ran.

The older boys were finished, standing now to watch the face

Of the other boy still running … the young one in last place.

His lungs felt they were bursting and his legs felt they would drop,

But he heard the crowd all cheering and he knew he couldn’t stop.

They replaced the broken ribbon for this little guy to see,

For to them he was a winner and the race his victory.

His daddy’s heart was full of pride toward his little son

Who never slowed his pace at all when all the others won.

His face was hot and sweaty as he made his final lap

And the crowd yelled even louder for this bravest little chap.

Each step closer to the finish line lit up his face with joy.

His mother looked around and said “that little man’s my boy”.

With head held high he crossed the line, delighted he had won.

He didn’t seem to care at all that all the rest were done.

Mama took his picture, daddy threw him in the air.

Their little boy had won his race and finished with a flare.

For years they told the story how he’d gone right to the end,

And how they’d been so grateful when he cleared that final bend.

Did it matter when he told them after many years had passed?

“I always thought I won that race instead of being last.”

They’ll always know he won that day coming in last place.

For they still see the victory displayed upon his face.

It isn’t just the first ones through, or who is called the best.

It’s how they ran the race that tells them how they passed the test.

It’s how we feel about our race that counts when life is done.

We’ll know ourselves when that time comes, if we lost or won.

@ Edna Henke, Ivins, Utah

Grandma Henke