Subjected to Frost at an early age
I and friends have since chosen our way
Thus many have traveled on the trodden path
I as Epimetheus see their folly at last
Knowing their hearts- how they long to go back
We few who still walk stringently down a narrow way
Have no desire to dwell back to that day
The path of life chosen this few now walk
Leads to the dream we long have stalked
Sequestered dreams by hoards at wayward doors
Glitzing a promise to a path more worn
Tis easy on the eyes, the heart, and the feet
Making each voluptuous gate seemingly straight-sweet
But I keep to this narrow grassy path- chosen by me
For to waver or detour would be dream’s death to me
Nothing is not to describe the situation
I have nothing to do with the situation
The situation has something to do with me
Clean up all the mess, she says stringently
I must save you from death just like I would save my children
I must show them the way to save everyone’s children
There is no one else but you who can change it
We were polished to perfection, chosen, given,
The equipment that has got the conclusion
To all pains and fears, and all those dying deer’s
We could kill it, possibly?
We don’t want to, certainly.
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