A teller of future and past,
A piece of glass.
I hold it in my hand,
And it makes me reflect upon;
The path I tread,
The roads I walked,
The homes I adorned,
The hands I held,
And the love I spread.
Painting this picture of my past,
Its a reminiscence of what I was.
Another piece of glass,
I hold in the other hand;
And it makes me visualize,
The path that lies ahead,
The pitstops and pitfalls on the way,
The opportunities and threats at bay,
And the camaraderie that stays.
Crafting this picture of my future,
It opens wide horizons for me,
To step out and make my choice;
To pick up those pearls of future,
And straw them in the riviere of present;
Which would have another string,
When glanced through the mirror of past.
A piece of glass.
I hold it in my hand,
And it makes me reflect upon;
The path I tread,
The roads I walked,
The homes I adorned,
The hands I held,
And the love I spread.
Painting this picture of my past,
Its a reminiscence of what I was.
Another piece of glass,
I hold in the other hand;
And it makes me visualize,
The path that lies ahead,
The pitstops and pitfalls on the way,
The opportunities and threats at bay,
And the camaraderie that stays.
Crafting this picture of my future,
It opens wide horizons for me,
To step out and make my choice;
To pick up those pearls of future,
And straw them in the riviere of present;
Which would have another string,
When glanced through the mirror of past.
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