At twelve you lost your bicycle
And gained a life.
Pretty outside and inside,
You set your mind to add
Substance to prettiness.
Within six years of grind, you
Made bold to win an Olympic
Gold at eighteen. Such prowess
Was never before seen.
That done, you became Atlas,
Taking on your  principled
Shoulders the ennobling
Onus of justice and peace.
You asked why those who
Were everyday battered at
Home needed to prove
Loyalty in Vietnam among
Fellow victims who never did
Them harm. Lauded and
Reviled in equal measure, you
Cared only for the truth of
Your heart and the teachings of
The soul. Banished from
The beloved Ring, you went
Among the people without
Pretence of self or greatness,
Looking lovingly to redress
The lost hope of the oppressed.
As you left the inherited fold
To go to Islam, wagging and
Vicious tongues did not one
Bit dent the charm of your
Path to self-made beauty of
Being; powerless against your
Rancourless greatness, the hand
Of time accorded to you the
Highest recognition that any
President could give an American
Civilian. Parkinson did its worst,
But when you held the torch,
The Olympic flame burst.
Against the gravest of your
Infirmity, your wit stood impish
And ready. When you left
In an imperceptible second,
Your determined antagonists of old
Sang praise to your innocence.
Ali, had your magnificence not been
So real, it would have been a trance.