The wisdom of age

 

The crushed-ice boy in the corner

Has both his eyes fixed on the cup,

But the old hands near the dart board

Have the tournament sewn up.

 

 

Though cocky, preening juniors

Contest the calls across the net,

The veterans the other side

Win at a canter for a bet.

 

Gun-waving youths are boasting that

They’ll stop the flight of helpless birds;

The grey campaigners lurking close

Intend to make them eat their words.

 

The grizzled journeymen take on

Some upstarts who would run the mile.

They break four minutes without sweat

And sprint the last lap with a smile.

◄ Parades

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Comments

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Stephen Gospage

Fri 6th Aug 2021 16:23

Thanks for liking the poem, Aisha.

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Stephen Gospage

Mon 2nd Aug 2021 16:52

Thanks, M.C. Glad you enjoyed it.

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M.C. Newberry

Sat 31st Jul 2021 18:59

Brings to mind the tale of "The tortoise and the hare". Craft and
guile can outwit youthful prowess occasionally.

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Stephen Gospage

Sat 31st Jul 2021 17:28

Many thanks for the like, Holden.

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