Carl Stevens' Poem: Happy 40th Birthday Tom Brady
TB 12 happy birthday, and this ain't no joke.
At 40 years old, you're still the goat.
And as long as those Super Bowl memories shine,
You'll always be no more than 29.
Age is a thing that weighs down mortal men.
They sag in the middle, get fat in the end,
Become slower and slower with each passing day,
As yesterday's talents slip slowly away.|
But you just get stronger, your great skills linger.
The way you win rings, you might run out of fingers.
Manning, Montana, Bradshaw Unitas,
They're all long gone, but you still unite us,
Unite all New England beneath victory's glow,
As so many receivers come and go.
They all caught the lightning from the cloud of your hand,
Playing pitch and catch with the best in the land.
Brown and Edelman, Gronkowski and Moss,
They gratefully caught the gems that you tossed.
And as you turn 40 we smile and stare,
Like the effortless dancing of Fred Astaire,
You just keep on going, time must think it's funny,
As it gazes at football's Everready Bunny.
Well keep pounding that drum, and keep winning those rings,
Keep making us smile, and making us sing.
This year and the next and the next will be fun
Because Tom Brady just turned 40 years young.
