The Widows might; you never know!
Perhaps they'd love to have a go.
Perhaps they secretly aspire
To tripping lightly in the mire;
To donning multi-studded shoes;
To winning lots of bottled booze.
No stopping when they run up bills,
Perhaps they'll do the same on hills.
And even if there's wind and rain,
They still might run and won't complain .

The Widow's might - a strength unknown
Of character, about the home.
One word from her, the kids calm down;
One little smile dispels your frown;
"Your running shoes are by the fire,
Your vest is in the tumble drier."
She'd be an asset at a race,
Keeping officialdom in place,
And making runners follow rules
Like carrying waterproof cagoules.

The Widow's mite - no coin in box,
But given-in-kind by darning socks,
And washing mud-bespattered clothes,
Both tasks which any runner loathes.
And when he hosts committee meetings
She welcomes all with pleasant greetings,
Prepares the tea behind the scenes
And hardly ever intervenes
To say "how late" or "how time flies",
Instead she brings in more mince pies.

Perhaps we shouldn't change her ways,
But lavish on her gentle praise
In case arriving home for tea
This little note is all we see:
"Your dirty clothes are on the floor,
Right where you left them by the door.
You'll find food in the supermarket.
Take the car - there's room to park it."
And if you find this all quite stunning,

"Don't worry dear, I've gone out running!"