And if I couldn't be here? What would I
Do if the choices that I made were gone
And, like the day dividing from the dawn,
I had to leave them far behind, and try
To make a different way? Would I just cry
And beat my fists against the ground when drawn
From what I wanted, or moan on and on
About what has been lost? Or would I sigh
And pick the pieces up, and try again,
Finding a way around the barrier,
Perhaps a little shyer, tenser, warier
More sensitive to what I have, and when,
But no less stubborn? I believe I would
For what I chose was, is, and remains good.
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