Whenever there I chance to see
Sails and gales,
In mystery,
I wonder where I might have been
If I had blown before the wind.
Perhaps a beggar on the street
Worn and torn
In stocking feet,
Wine imbibed, waiting to die
And cursing all that passes by.
Perhaps a president or king,
Bestowed with gold
And high esteem,
Adulation, fame, success
And fortune more than popes could bless.
Fair winds have borne me love’s caress
Hand in hand
With happiness,
Compassion, trust, fidelity,
No greater fortune could I see.
And what I am is what I’ll be,
Plain as Jane
In reality.
Though precious youth is robbed by time,
The child inside remains behind.
rlkilgore
