He was good in his time, very good.
Now his time was past as time should.
He tried again once more to show,
The skill and strength once his to know.
The younger player, quick and strong,
Taking the place it was his to belong.
The older one wanting to show this bunch.
To show he was good, for at least this once.
The young one’s quickness was hard to catch,
But the older one’s mind was hard to match.
Time and again they would parry and thrust,
As each strove to win, with a passion like lust.
Sweat flowing freely, only him and me,
The surrounding crowd came to see.
Bodies aching and breath coming fast,
The older one drawing on skills from the past.
Time running out and skill must show.
The old one playing with one who would grow.
One to grow for all to see.
One to be far better than me.
But in his skill brought to view,
Lies the skill of not one, but two.
He’ll have his skill for all to see,
But in his age will he remember me?

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