We cry to think of what we have missed,
We cry to think of what comes next.
Although we cry and cry and cry,
We soon see the minds eye.
Yet it might have been different,
It might have been odd,
Yet we might as well see now that life is longer
than a fishing rod.
We think of the sun, and cry in joy,
We all are different, girl and boy.
But we all have to live in joy.
Some say we’ve missed a lot,
Yet that is true,
Though we are now driving into it,
Like an old, rusty screw.
We might have thought that it would never end,
Well, soon we shall all see and then blend.