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A scholarship here, a scholarship there.
I used to run like the wind.
I busted through every defensive line,
And I never looked back again.

The scholarships thrown on the table.
My dad put them there in a pile.
He said “Close your eyes and pick one!”
As he stood there so proud with a smile.

A letter that day in the mailbox,
Said,”You belong now to Old Uncle Sam.”
“I hope that you haven’t got plans son,
For you’re heading to to hell, Viet Nam!”

Now years have gone by like a vapor.
My life’s been a constant recession.
Today in the mail came more papers.
Notices of more repossessions.

Those poor baby stars in the sports world.
How happy I’d be just to take,
One tenth of what they are making,
And let them have lived my life’s fate!

The values of our age diminish,
What matters the most in this world.
The money and glitter will vanish.
But will there be love boys and girls?

robertburns2@mac.com
Homepage.mac.com/RobertBurns2

This poem is Copyright ยฉ Robert_Edgar_Burns