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He came out of his dressing room dancing,
the rap music setting the pace.
His purposely sweat-ridden body
ready for this man-to-man race.
He entered the ring with much purpose,
a conviction that came from his heart.
The bell rang and they came at each other,
he punched, as we watched his great art.
The shots that came forward were deadly,
each one hit square on the mark.
He shuffled, made time with the minutes,
trying to end this so close to the start.
He continued to pound his opponent,
from body shots, to hits to the head.
The crowds wouldn't contain their composure,
roars couldn't conceal the other's dread.
His opponent began to get weary,
his body wracked with pain from defeat.
He staggered and hung onto the ropes,
as he looked at his corner for relief.
The final punch came in the inevitable,
perfect right in the gut, then the chin.
Flat on his back, oh so swiftly,
guaranteeing our hero his win.
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