If Tomorrow's Gone Poem by Charles Bernabi

We are few that ran the golden mile
And surely we left the dust behind.
We wondered over the line in rank and file
And surely it was how things aligned.

From morning rise till sunset bind
Where ties were held in style.
But rage between us have been a frame of mind
Since the old sway was without a smile.

And as we gave a hand to be fertile
There landed a friend for our kind.
Sweet Jo, long ago she could not revile
For her mind was mellow and unbind.

Now she hangs with gangs designed
And surely she'll do a new profile.
We heard her long ago, packing a six of a kind
Pistol black that had a kick, old style -

Between the thick grey we are all senile
And surely we should be confined.
So long ago she came, we recall it erstwhile
And surely we'll dream of a fine time.

For today once gone all will be forgot
And far from us if never headlined.
But we'll drink a lot 'fore the mug shot
And surely in morn we'll fall behind.

We the few that ran as was thought
And surely it became worthwhile.
But we'd whined along a path wrought
And surely that was most juvenile.