THE ROAD TO OLD MAN’S TOWN
 
Rio Grand, 1902         

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 must tread,
    With faltering steps and whitening head
The road to Old Man’s Town.