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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 . . .