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Poems From Bard to Verse

by Mel Wade

 

A LEGEND IN HIS OWN MIND
   (with apologies to Lewis Carroll)
    By Mel Wade, Senior Olympian

''You are old, Senior Olympian", the young man said,
"And your hair is exceedingly white.
And yet you play tennis from morning to night.
Do you think at your age it is right? "

"In my youth", said the sage,  "I tried to find out
Just how could my life be invested?"
"Get into the rackets", The Godfather said,
"So I followed just what he suggested." 

"You are old", said the youth, "and I couldn't help note
You seem to be starting to drool.
Has this something to do with the hours you spend
Swimming lap after lap in the pool? "

"In my youth", said his father, "I was forced by my folks 
To chose between swimming and tennis.
So I soon got a job as delivery boy
For a large pizza parlor in Venice."

"You're a star, dear old dad, in fashion as well,
So I want to hear what are the trends.
So please let me know, is it boxers or briefs?
What's that you're saying?   'Depends'?"

"You are old, Senior Olympian, and compete every year,
And yet you can't seem to win.
You gave up your naps so you could run laps.
Are you quite off your rocker again?"

"We have heard", said the son, some doubt in his voice,
"Of your glorious wins in the past.    
Did you win all those races at record time paces
Or were you perhaps just half fast?"

"It is true", said the legend, as he gloried in fame,
"You can trust all my exploits because
The older I get, the better I am
And of course, all the better I was."

You are old, Senior Olympian, yet you run like a deer
(I admit I've become quite a fan)
Despite your bad knee and CWD
How in health can you do it, old man?

Your are right, I acquired Chronic Wasting Disease,
Wasting money and youth until when
I got off my rear, and got into gear--
Now I'll never be shiftless again

"You are old", said the son, "and your medals are few,
Yet you still have your eye on the prize.
Although you are fragile, you still are quite agile
And your rivals are dropping like flies." 

"My competitive thrill may be over the hill
And soon I will be very old
If I play enough years, I will run out of peers
And then I can 'go for the gold'."

 

Reprinted here with the kind permission of the author Mel Wade - September 15, 2002

 

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All poems are the original creation of Mel Wade and may not be reprinted without his written permission.
E-mail Mel Wade at:  melwade at execpc dot com

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Last updated: Saturday, March 24, 2012