Wrestling+poem

Getting up at 8.30 in the cold winter moring to go to pratice, I greet you when i walk in the door. The running team sounds like a stampede of wild animals. My shoes grip the mat is like a bug stuck to a windsheild. The howling of the winds, Sounds as the blowing the whistle to start the match. Blood, sweat, tears which drives us. The yelling and scearming which helps us thrive. Adrenaline pumping from the entanglement with my opponent. As light shines down on the mat like the sun shines down on Earth. Gigantic battles like mangled leaves blowing in the wind We all have one goal, To win.