From many of conquest
There sits the boxer at rest,
Still wearing his worn hand wraps
Always pleased to hear hoorah's and claps.
And over his hand wraps are the gloves
Which he hits with and sometimes shoves,
But, now they are a little bit bloody
Caused by his profession, his study.
He's patiently waiting for the next round
Waiting to again hear the bell sound,
Then in the ring he will again move and box
He is as cunning and as sly as a Fox.
He doesn't wrestle or grab when he fights
And he doesn't kick or throws or bites,
Then he will shout this to every sportswriter
That he's a boxer! and not just a fighter.
He is governed by the Queensberry rules
And his hands are his ultimate tools,
He will battle for three long minutes
Always pushing himself to the very limits.
As he sits, his corner gives him water to drink
And they'll tell him of his opponent's every kink,
While trying to outpoint or to knock his opponent out
To quickly end their bout.
He's bleeding and sweating siting in his chair
As at his opponent he just gives a stare,
But, at this very moment he feels very blessed
As he is the boxer at rest.
Randy L. McClave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem