My young protege,
I call him the journeyman,
Is hobbling around
Like the master of the shop.
His young calves are tired,
Sore from the sudden burst in volume
As lacrosse pre-season starts.
I know his hitch in the get-a-long too well.
Tired hips, tight hamstrings, sore lats,
It seems like each day is a struggle.
One to be loved and embraced,
Cherished for the feeling
Of still being in the game.
Tomorrow, he will wake,
The soreness will probably be just about gone
I’m swimming, so my aches will be buoyant,
Hopefully, that will make things a little easier.

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