Tuesday: Testament of Time, I have written a bit of wrestling poetry…

Wrestling takedowns, the art of the fall,

A battle of strength, technique, and skill,

One moment you’re up, and then you hit the mat,

A power move, a well-timed attack, still.

The clash of bodies, the grip of tight holds,

The struggle to stay on your feet, to keep your balance,

The sweat and the grit, the push and the pull,

The drive to get up, the will to advance.

It’s a test of endurance, a showcase of might,

A showcase of grace, and an exhibition of fight,

Wrestling takedowns, a testament to the sport,

A symbol of courage, a symbol of all that is right.

Wrestling dieting, a challenge untold,

A quest for perfection, a battle will mold.

No junk food, no sweets, no carbs in sight,

Just broccoli and chicken, day and night.

A wrestler must eat, to win the match,

No, It’s not all fun, it’s a long, tough catch.

No pizza, no burgers, no fun, just greens,

Small room for error, look out for beans.

But then comes the weigh-in, and what do you know?

The scale tips the right way, and you let out a sigh of woe.

All that sacrifice, for pride in return,

But hey, there’s no next time, and that’s what we all yearn!