The time has passed in which the twig could bend; awaken uplifted to a bright-eyed sun; lay claim to its full legacy with the comfort of nature's backing and, at day's end, caressed by tender winds, frolic in a moonlit garden of blossoms.
I have heard it said: if only I knew then what I know now, how different I would have been.
Yet, I often think: if only I had not been afraid to partake of the things which I did know then, how different I would now be.
For from a distance, desire can breed obsession, weakness can encourage excessiveness, and regret can induce passivity.
I have read: "Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind."
Yes, the twig is now brittle, but I will no longer bemoan this state. Instead, I will gain inspiration from its determined posture.
For no distance is so great that homage cannot be borne from desire, nor strength from weakness, nor action from regret.
And, even in the worst of times, the Muses will appear, the senses will rejuvenate and the heart will beat heavily.
Quoted lines are from William Wordsworth's "Ode: Intimations of Immortality."