They often say that wood is green
When it’s new and in its youth;
And when mature it is soft brown
And that is but the truth.
But when it’s old and dry and hard,
Is when it turns to gray;
And then it seems of not much use
Till it is hauled away.
And so it is with old horses
And old cowboys so they say;
They run their course and seize the time
Till both then turn to gray.
But, in the course of man’s events—
Of old roans and dappled bay;
They do the things that we expect
Till all the world goes gray.
And so it is with old folks now,
Once young and in the pink;
Or in their prime, all strong and tall—
Thought they’d never die, I think.
But now we’re old, all bent and frail—
We’ve seen a better day;
And like that wood, we disappear,
As we all fade to gray.