It is often said that only the good die young, but I don’t think that’s true. I never intentionally hurt anyone in my entire life, and I’m as old as dirt and still kicking. My life abounds in good works. When I was a boy scout I helped old ladies across the street, even when they didn’t want to go. So I reject the notion that we good guys are necessarily, by providential decree, doomed to an early departure time.

The flower strewn Elysian fields

Where heroes go to play

Seem not to have the yearly yields

They had once in their day

The fields are bare, the flowers gone

Soft winds no longer blow

No longer birds announce the dawn

No more the golden glow

That once enrapt the hero’s face

That maidens found so pure

Is gone for good, and now the race

Is for the old, for sure

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