Rio Grande's Last Race, and Other Verses

The Road to Old Man's Town

  The fields of youth are filled with flowers,
  The wine of youth is strong:
  What need have we to count the hours?
  The summer days are long.

  But soon we find to our dismay
  That we are drifting down
  The barren slopes that fall away
  Towards the foothills grim and grey
  That lead to Old Man's Town.

  And marching with us on the track
  Full many friends we find:
  We see them looking sadly back
  For those that dropped behind.

  But God forbid a fate so dread —
  ALONE to travel down
  The dreary road we all must tread,
  With faltering steps and whitening head,
  The road to Old Man's Town!