Many-a-place we wander Our minds seldom rest We dream to the yonder wishing a life of zest. And so begins our journey ideals that reach the sky Promises made so early Scales of truth tipping high. Innocent as we were that raw but soulful age slowly dying with sweeter myrrh we step out of our childlike cage. The wishlist grows an endless growth of its own will it end? No one knows Nor has anyone ever known. We're born with hope We die with it In between a slippery slope what only lasts is humor and wit. So we forget our wishlist of long ago away with it we let until it is to be no more.