It came as a shock, or should I say surprise...
I mean, I should have seen it coming,
The change in enthusiasm, tone and well, that gut feeling in my heart
And I should be happy for them, not looking back to see if I should have taken the chance
By then again, the cynic bug's bite its venonous and scars

It was my choice to let go
And if you still ask me, choose if the sweet cummy couple holding hands between the radical art student dressed in boots, drags and smudged make-up walking towards the Architectural Association...
I choose to be that student...
Cuz that to me, is life.

But still, my friend, I wish you joy.
Joy to both you and her, from the bottom of my heart.

I saw him sitting at his door,
Trembling as old men do;
His house was old; his barn was old,
And yet his eyes seemed new.

His eyes had seen three times my years
And kept a twinkle still,
Though they had looked at birth and death
And three graves on a hill.

"I will sit down with you," I said,
"And you will make me wise;
Tell me how you have kept the joy
Still burning in your eyes."

Then like an old-time orator
Impressively he rose;
"I make the most of all that comes,
The least of all that goes."

The jingling rhythm of his words
Echoes as old songs do,
Yet this had kept his eyes alight
Till he was ninety-two