ROAMING
I could stay and work, and be miserable and sedate,
Or I can travel, work and maybe relate,
Perhaps in some way I can make a change,
Either way, I’ll die alone roaming a mountain range,
There are many ways to die,
I could die happy, I could die proud,
Some way or another I’ll be on the ground,
Withered and old and tired and sick.
Looking back, I want to be able to smile,
That might make me walk an extra mile,
And at that age I hope to know enough,
To do something good and not be too rough,
Let travel and work refine me,
Let my character define me,
And let my future deeds true and bold,
Make me smile when I am old.
