A Boxer Is A Boxer

A boxer is made, he isn't born He was created from cartilage torn, And also by a blackened eye, and a bloody nose And scraped knees and ripped clothes. He was created from fright and fears And also by shame and worries and tears, He was made in the streets and in the valley He was also created in the back alley. A boxer indeed is a true gladiator Where the world is his spectator, On no-one else does he or will he ever rely Only upon his-self will he ever vie. When a boxer steps into the boxing ring He anxiously waits for the bell to ding, He then releases his primal might As he is prepared and trained and always ready to fight. A boxer doesn't need a team or a squad He is the captain and a leader and not a fraud, He knows exactly why he exists As he looks, and then he raises up his two fists. A boxer remains a boxer even when he is old His battles and wars many times to others he will have told, And sometimes at him if you give a quick glance He will once again, go into his boxing stance. A boxer is a boxer, until his death He will talk and reminisce about boxing until his final breath And I will say this to every sir and or ma'am; A boxer, I proudly am. Randy L. McClave