The Great Race

You used to race me everywhere
when we were kids. You’d say,
“I’ll race ya!” then away you’d tear.
It always was that way.

And in our youth you raced ahead
because you had to win.
You raced my sweetheart off to bed,
her head was in a spin.

I think that she heard wedding bells;
she didn’t know the score.
I’ve heard the sorry tale she tells,
told by a dozen more.

beat me once again,
I always trailed behind the mob,
a loser, it was plain.

This time you beat me to that place -
a sort of finish line,
so you might say you won the race,
and if you want to, fine.

Now viewing you old mate, I find
that I forgive what’s past.
I wish you well, and I don’t mind
that once again I’m last.