Too old am I to taste regrets, too many have gone by,
a smorgasbord of every kind, a meal of every size.
Regrets of love there are but few, I gratefully admit
and loss of opportunities are easy to forget.
Like the lover and his loss spoken with a sigh,
opportunities are like buses, every hour one goes by.
I try and think sometimes, if the end were near,
what would I wish that I had done, what do I hold most dear?
And when the answers come, could I do it now?
Or what road could I take, to make it right somehow?
And yes, sad thoughts do occur but I try and keep them brief.
I’d rather wallow more in hope than in despair or grief.