Where were my lenses ground;
Am I being of nature
or nurture?
Looking back down many roads
I am not sure that I’m
a better man,
but I think so.
A million what-ifs lead where, exactly?
I’ve cut a shitload of grass;
if the universe trembles each time
I’ve made a terrible mess.
I no idea how many rounds we get;
I grow sober with years.
Judgment ain’t yours,
sayeth The Old One and
brother, he’s not kidding.
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