There's a strange thing about time.
It marches on without reason or rhyme.
It dances and moves, it ebbs and it flows,
and nature must gallop where it goes.
No way to stop or turn round,
Our action in the past are forever bound.
No mistakes can be healed
Nor bad decisions repealed.

But stranger than th'unchangeable yore,
Is that which is not yet in lore.
the future, full of potential and promise,
Every choice a jump to light or fall to abyss.
Where will I go and what will I do?
All things from here are exciting and new.
But still I might fail, and fall far behind.
Will I be be happy and not wish to rewind?
For when my days start slipping swiftly away,
When my life is nigh done and I've had my say,
All my work is sealed now and forever,
I'll look back on the past and remember.
With fondness or fury, with jealousy or joy,
Of what I did as a man and as a boy.