I read the papers every day, and oft encounter tales which show
there's hope for every jay who in life's battle fails. I've
just been reading of a gent who joined the has-been ranks, at
fifty years without a cent, or credit at the banks. But
undismayed he buckled down, refusing to be beat, and captured
fortune and renown; he's now on Easy Street. Men say that
fellows down and out ne'er leave the rocky track, but facts
will show, beyond a doubt, that has-beens do come back. I know,
for I who write this rhyme, when forty-odd years old, was down
and out, without a dime, my whiskers full of mold. By black
disaster I was trounced until it jarred my spine; I was a
failure so pronounced I didn't need a sign. And after I had
soaked my coat, I said (at forty-three), "I'll see if I can
catch the goat that has escaped from me." I labored hard; I
strained my dome, to do my daily grind, until in triumph I came
home, my billy-goat behind. And any man who still has health
may with the winners stack, and have a chance at fame and
wealth--for has-beens do come back.
_Walt Mason._