I have had this on my desk for many years. If you have read Grantland Rice I'm sure you will recognize it. If you have not read Grantland Rice, and you are old enough, you will recognize the words.
TO ANY ATHLETE
By Grantland Rice
Why is it each is the last to find
That his legs are gone-that his eyes are bad,
That the quicker reflexes have left his mind,
That he hasn't the stuff that he one day had,
That lost youth mocks, and he doesn't see,
The ghost of the fellow that used to be?
How can they slip from the heights so far,
And never know that the day has gone
When their eyes were fixed on a rising star
With a firm foundation to stand upon?
How can they slip as the comets fall
And read no writing upon the wall?
Caught by a stride which they used to beat-
Nailed by a punch that they used to block-
Trailing the flurry of flying feet,
But dreaming still of the peaks that mock-
Each is the last to learn from fate
That his story is finished-and out of date!
I'll also add, "The older we get, the better we were."
Bill