Red, Red, Red

I met some weights one rainy day. They looked at me and said, "Let's play."

I frowned and puffed, "I've come to lift."

They winked and said, "That's quite a gift...

...but if you only push and strain, You'll miss the music in the game."

So up they floated, Down they came. They never once Played tug-of-war.

They taught my knees To bend once more, My shoulders how To open doors.

My back stood tall, My ankles sang, My elbows found Their boomerang.

My hips remembered Long-lost tunes. We danced through mornings, Nights, and noons.

I grew as strong As ten—and then I felt like nineteen Once again.

I thought that muscles Came from grit, From grumbles, Groans, And "Don't you quit!"

But somewhere Between the press and squat, I found the thing I'd somehow not:

Bodybuilding isn't Lifting weights.

It's dancing With them.

And every dance Needs one more song, Not one more mountain Dragged along.

So choose a weight That makes you grin, Not one that makes The music end.

For it's not how heavy you lift—

It's how long You keep your heavy Moving.

Lift light... Though not so light You could lift more.

And never Lift so heavy... That you have to leave The dance floor.

Because the ones Who stay the youngest

Aren't the ones Who lift the most—

They're the ones Who never stop Dancing.