The walking man
Never celebrated
Never the envy of enthusiast
Wanting to grow up and be like him
His is a silent sport
His is ritual and notation
Every step accounted for
Every stride measured
Every restless sleep
A primeval scream
Someday he may run
Someday someone may take notice
The walking man
Knows this path
Every pebble
Every blade of grass
It is his bible
It is his god