I dream of days, of years gone by,

As sitting here I softly cry,

Beset with introspective pain;

Those choices can’t be made again.

Through carefree youth of thoughtless time,

Before I reached my promised prime,

Ignoring counsel, worded plain;

Those choices can’t be made again.

As I approached maturity,

And gradually began to see

Decisions are not preordained...

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