The mortuaries for young hopes and dreams
Are built in middle age when first we find
Real obstacles impede the flow of streams
We mapped for navigation in our mind
But callow yearnings for romantic end
Should not be coffin-laid before their time
Such wonder is their power to transcend
The tortured course that challenges our prime
Experience yields choices grown more sage
Less likely to abjure a changing line
We modify our prospects as we age
Through crisis, chance or canny redesign
What matters after all is done and tied
Is did we find the bliss beneath the pride
(originally posted April 2013 – written years earlier)