I had thought that I had won
By the hot argument of my youth
Against all that had been done
A newer, braver truth.

Savagely I tore at my older foe,
Slapped his life with the back of my tongue,
Ridiculed his wares that he might know
He and his despised by the young.

Denounced him, even, as a Talleyrand,
Dispensing only the old and the stale,
Selling anything that was second-hand,
His hind legs sandwiching his tail.

But older now I find as well
I serve and mind my father's store
And as thoughtfully await the clinetele
Who I know, as flourishing proprietor,
Whill arrive, and to whom I'll sell
The same stale goods that were sold before.