His ego was like Everest.
He claimed he was the very best.
His mouth (the size of Mammoth Cave)
was loud and proud and brash.
His fists could sting just like a bee.
His feet could dance like poetry.
And as he floated in the ring,
he was a butterfly.
Yet he was born with feet of Clay.
He was dyslexic (so they say).
But he could read injustice
down the street and round the world.
He took his fight where e'er he went.
He straightened out what hatred bent.
With trembling hand "The Champ" reached out
to help the hurting cope.
And though "The Greatest" grew quite weak
and barely had the means to speak,
Muhammad Ali fought for peace
right to the very end.
Peace to his memory!