FATHER TIME
There was a cyclist in our town,
Who was a champion of great renown.
He raced down east, and also out west,
And defeated America's very best.
He went to Europe for greater fame,
And beat every champion in the game,
But with this success was not content,
And then out to Australia went.
And out in the land of the Kangaroo,
He beat all of the riders and records too;
And when he had filled his heart's desire
He made up his mind to retire.
Just when he had the whole world beat
An old timer raced him off his feet.
"T'was Father Time, with his long white hair,
The only one who could beat him fair.
As a sprinter, he is not very fast,
But as a plugger, he is the class.
They all can jump him at the start,
But that doesn't weaken his strong heart.
He has only one speed, it seems very slow,
His pace is steady, his gear is low.
The only tactics he has to show
Is to keep on plugging, and let you go.
He never boasts, he's a good old scout,
'When he does catch up, he wears you out.
You may win for a while, it's lots of fun,
But he's always best in the long run.
And when he trims you, don't try a come-back,
You might just as well keep off the track.
For you may keep on trying until you die,
But you can't overtake him once he goes by.
At the start his pace seems very slow,
But it grows faster and faster the farther he goes.
At first you resisted him fairly well,
But youth will be served, Time will tell.
Each year is a milestone in this handicap,
And a great trumpet will blow for the last lap.
For this is the original race of its kind,
Between all human beings and Father Time.
