How did I spend the vigour of my youth, on chasing fame and riches and chimera of power? No.
And somewhat proud I say of that.
So what lay waste the flower of my time?
Travelling to stars outside the planetarium of skull? No.
No seeker of novel worlds and strange practice beyond sitting on the ***.
With this body encased in mind did I explore my globe
In walking and sitting and standing and lying in running and swimming in energy pared in eating and ******* and sleeping in sexing and drinking and library reading.
So tell me old man of this misspent time of the hurts you made and the lazy days
And tell me of the hells you created of the good intentions fallen to dust
And do not omit the belly laughter and small kindness and hospitality to strangers and open heart and spirit soaring.
And tell me now how will the fruit of time be thrown into the small basket of remaining days?
Why what to expect of a maverick reprobate, but more sweet lady, a little more of the same