100 metres to the end,
The finish line’s in sight
You’re laughing,’cos you can’t defend
Your feelings from last night
‘Cos it was all fine, not to worry
Your legs were there to carry you
“It is all mine”, so slightly sorry
Your lack of practice tarried you
But in the end, it is all blind
You can only wait and hope
You’ve left the others far behind
And tripping in the scope
Pete Hall may have a named place
And your name draws from the hat
And then the name’s stuck to the face
Before you know, that’s that
And if it ain’t, well then it ain’t
No use crying over lord’s own spilled paint
In the back of your mind, there’s still a force
Adding “St Andrews had a very nice course.”

I'd rather be known as a loser than a quitter.

Harsh winds blew through,
In this cold, vast biosphere,
As I alone,
With none but my molted feather coat,
And these webbed pink feet,
Trudged across a paved way in snow,
To a place unknown.

Where lies my new colony,
With newfound friends,
And a family evermore,
Where I shall bear my soul!
Unjudged and beloved.

What an adventure this will be,
Surely not pleasant,
But one rough and obscure,
Where the malicious seals and skuas wait out to ambush.

Eager I was,
To be set free!
“The bright and bold”,
They’d say,
To us,
The youth,
The birds of times to come.