Old Golfers Die Hard

Old Golfers Die Hard Getting old means living with pain, And you get more pain, the more you strain, When you’re young, you hear “no pain, no gain”; But they were not talking about doing things just plain. Things like walking around the block, And things like leaving the bed to shut off the clock; And things like running a brush through your hair, And, like, holding your arms way up in the air! For now that you’re old, everything hurts, The pain ebbs and worsens in spurts: The days of ease and sunshine are few, Though you try to fan the flames of youth anew. For, no matter how you try, youth cannot be regained, You cannot go back and in all matters abstained; It’s you that lives now, and it cannot be changed, What once was you, can no longer be arranged. So, you pick up your club, and swing with all your might, But what once disappeared, now stays within sight; So you stroll down the fairway, looking for your ball, Hoping that on your next swing, you might not fall. What was once a short hole, now seems very long, What now is a hard hole, was once just a song; Hit it from here to there? Why, that should be easy; If it  wasn’t for this pain in my body making me queasy. But still I live, and still I play, And still I will come back for another day; I no longer compete against others, I play against pain, It’s just me against the ball; I think that’s plain. The ones I play against may think me their rival, That’s really not true, for me it’s just survival; I could beat them once, but that’s not what counts, It’s me against the pain, weird putt or a bounce. So I’ll tee it up again, and invite all to play, At the end of the round we’ll see who has what to say; And when we add our scores and make our amends, We’ll come back next week, and still be friends! Written May 20th, 2001 © on Jun 12 2001 02:18 PM PST, Brazos Mason   0 • 12