When sometimes boredom, stale and still
Is as spokes to the wheels of mind and will
A more useful waste of time, I find
Is to imagine mornings yet to shine

To dream of bridges I've yet to build
Of proudly bearing sword and shield
Twelve dozen twists, in a thickened plot
Those I expect, those I do not

The many lines I've yet to write
Or read, under a future light
What I'll learn of the past from a lib'ry shelf
And what I'll do to put some there, myself

To draw an Asturian legend, with notes
And have some perilous journey anecdotes
To look up at stars and wonder "Where?"
Then down on earth, and know, I'm there

To find new jungles, unexplored
Lost cities and a hidden fjord
To solve the hardest Holmesian case
Unravel mysteries of time and space

Forget I've ever once been bored
To the ring of a previously unplayed chord
On distant deserts, rough and coarse
Drifting, on a black maned horse

Have all these things a youth forgets
When old, and wise, and slow, he gets

To reach a conclusion mandatory:
All along and after all
It's been -my- story

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