Someday when I am sixty-three or four,

I want to look back on my life and say,

“The things I did just cannot be ignored.

Forget about them? No, there is no way.

I wrote a song and got a crowd to sing.

Or maybe made a film and earned a cheer.

I realized I could do most anything

When I found out the truth I hold so dear:

That all I really had to do was love,

And love, and love, and love, and love again.

This simple act alone is just enough

To turn my voice’s volume up to ten.”

Generic as this poem’s words may sound,

It’s from within, where countless dreams abound.