I used to walk but now I run

I used to walk, but now I run.  I run
To prove I'm not a china cup.  My foot
Comes down so hard on pavement.  Others shun
The stress and walk on rubber tracks.  I toot

My horn about the sun, the rain, the dark,
And sometimes snow I overcome each day
When I go out to run.  The dogs that bark,
The cars that push me onto grass, the way

The deer hold still—and once there was a bear—
Remind me of the danger that presents
Itself a dozen times a day, and fear
Remains the thing not conquered that I sense.

I shattered once.  I kept some shards to show.
My brain, intact, compels me now to go.