We who speak
\nof aging as a curse
\nsense the days we eke
\nout could get worse.<\/p>\n
By habit we hallow
\nvictories of the young,
\nwhose run becomes hollow,
\nsoon enough unsung.<\/p>\n
Then, as bursts of sprint
\nmerge into marathon,
\nwe duly reinvent
\nthe measure of having won.<\/p>\n
Speed yields to distance.
\nThe brio of dash
\ntopples before persistence,
\nwhich trumps flash.<\/p>\n
And as we turn to lope,
\naiming to come in last,
\nthis remains our hope:
\ncross not sooner but fast.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
We who speak of aging as a curse sense the days we eke out could get worse. By habit we hallow victories of the young, whose run becomes hollow, soon enough unsung. Then, as bursts of sprint merge into marathon, we duly reinvent the measure of having won. Speed yields to distance. The brio of … <\/p>\n