They run past us, fast, in lycra tight
skin,
Racing them-selves, so determined to win,
Tight-taut muscled & bronze firm
limbed,
Blue-eyes, gold hair &
sweat-slick-skimmed.
Those Northern athletes from colder climes,
In droves they arrive, for hot &
sunnier times,
Jogging, cycling, running, all puffing with
strain,
From dark clouds, they come to our sunny
Spain.
Gold skin, gold hair, golden Olympic schemes,
Leaving locals agog, with silly sweaty dreams,
Whizzing past us all, these golden demi-Gods,
Leaving behind, us, feeling very ordinary bods.
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