Aloft, a mighty throw to the green round;

A disc in air, straight toss, flick hand, clean flight.

Hopeful, his bird a’turned to winning ground

to name birdie in hand, happy, kind sight.

Now a short dart to take the wanted claim,

shake the chainlink shackles and give him grace,

discus success for Discobolus fame,

ardent wanting for that so sought first place.

So short a way to for this disc to go,

little leaping dancing floating cast shot.

A sure-thing, glad tides for he who did throw,

until the windy disc did miss its spot.

It skipped and turned, rolled like a rolling stone.

Why, God? It must have a mind of its own.