What will we do when we become old?
How will you see me when the magic leaves our eyes?
What will we have to say to eachother in a year, maybe 10 years from now?
It’s six months left to freedom, yet already, these chains that binds me chaffs at my ankles
Three decades now I languished, searching, searching, the voyage never ending
From creeks, to keeps; vales to valleys I went
Until accidentally, I stumbled upon you
And tasted the honey-tinged dew-drops of ecstasy for the first time . . .