Thursday, December 8, 2011

Still breathing

                                                        When I got old I though a lot
                                                    Of the things that all went in the pot
                                                   That made the soup that I"ve become
                                               Witch I never dreamed of when I was young
                                                         Fortune chance a run of luck
                                                  Have formed my life from natures muck
                                                      And still I dream of futures grand
                                                       Where in a noble place I"ll stand
                                                        I"ll take my bow and fade away
Or maybe live another day


Rick Amo said...

Amen to that, we never seem to end up where we once thought we were going.

Brig Seaver said...

good one, Dean