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

2 comments:

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