The swimmers are lined up behind their blocks;
The timers are getting ready their clocks.

A white-clad timer's whistle blows,
And the competitors in their positions pose.

The exciting words "Take your marks" is heard,
And the swimmers get ready to take flight like a bird.

The gun is shot; a quick puff of smoke,
And the swimmers take off like someone gave them a poke.

They streamline all the way to the flags,
Then they surface before one of them gags.

They start swimming in a steady crawl,
And none of them for the first lap stall.

At the other wall when they do their flip,
A swimmer slows down: the one in lane six.

They start sprinting on their remaining meters,
Their legs churning up water like crazy eggbeaters.

The cheering grows louder from all the teammates,
And each one with great tensity waits.

The swimmers surge towards the end,
And the timers over the pool edge bend.

Wild shouts erupt from the audience's seats,
As a swimmer touches and everyone beats.

Lane three is first, next is lane one,
And one by one the others are done.

Soon the crowds slowly diminish,
And the swim meet now is officially finished.