Lacrosse Stick

It was as white as a dove,
The mesh criss crossing perfectly,
A white border around the laces,
Connecting all of the strings together,
The cap on the end all new,
A long black shaft exactly the height for me.
I played my first game with so much determination,
The stick kept flying out of my hand,
I caught it and twisted it towards the goal,
A roar of cheers came from the crowd.
As the years go by the colour fades to a dark muddy brown,
The mesh in the centre slowly rusts away,
The white border has survived the years,
And still connects the strings together, but not as well.
The cap on the end is broken and torn off,
I'm too tall for this stick and must move onto a new one.
I must choose the right one,
As it will remain with me forever,
This is the right one,
This is my lacrosse stick.