At the end of an 80 year hike
You stand atop a mountain,
Your past behind you, and
Gaze into the future.
And the future is vague and
You can't quite make it out
But you know it has potential.
The potential to be something,
Your future strictly comes
And it flourishes and blooms
Like a fresh batch of Azaleas in the March-time sun.
And your future is crisp and sweet
And it fizzes and sparkles
And is a reflection of who you are, who you were
And who you will be:
Astral rainbows refracting in the prism of life,
The Little Prince is waiting in the stars,
But you mustn't forget your past.
