THE WAY OF THE GAME

Now summer goes and tomorrow's snows
Will soon be deep;
And skies of blue which the summer knew
See shadows creep;
And the gleam tonight which is silver bright
Spans ghostly forms,
As the winds rush by with their warning cry
Of coming storms.

So the laurel fades in the snow-swept glades
Of flying years,

As the dreams of youth find bitter truth
Of pain and tears;

Through the cheering mass let the victors pass
To find Fate's thrust,

As tomorrow's fame writes another's name
On drifting dust.

--Grantland Rice.