How lucky I must be To have been born when I was The middle of autumn, A score ago To have grown up as I did Playing with stick swords And scraping with villains only imagined To have been fighting for love Before the term was defined
How lucky That I didn’t grow up decades ago Before you were so much Or even had such A thought I was blessed I didn’t develop ideas Only to rust sleepily in a corner While you gasped for your first breath
And how fortunate That in this so-called tragedy I was not cast as Yorick, the foolish To think I was already dead
How lucky I must be To have grown up so fast To be mature enough to be burdened By your memory How serendipitous, auspicious That I have the strength To bear the weight When you could not
How lucky I must be To be able To live With a shadow over my head And “love” written on my wrist