Here’s a poem that reminds us it’s never too late to be victorious. We’re never too far gone that we can’t make different choices and turn ourselves around.
I read the papers every day,
and oft encounter tales
which show there’s hope for every jay
who in life’s battle fails.
I’ve just been reading of a gent
who joined the has-been ranks,
at fifty years without a cent,
or credit at the banks.
But undismayed he buckled down,
refusing to be beat,
and captured fortune and renown;
he’s now on Easy Street.
Men say that fellows down and out
ne’er leave the rocky track,
but facts will show, beyond a doubt,
that has-beens do come back.
I know, for I who write this rhyme,
when forty-odd years old,
was down and out, without a dime,
my whiskers full of mold.
By black disaster I was trounced
until it jarred my spine;
I was a failure so pronounced
I didn’t need a sign.
And after I had soaked my coat,
I said (at forty-three),
“I’ll see if I can catch the goat
that has escaped from me.”
I labored hard; I strained my dome,
to do my daily grind,
until in triumph I came home,
my billy-goat behind.
And any man who still has health
may with the winners stack,
and have a chance at fame and wealth—
for has-beens do come back.
Your Friend and Pep Pal,