Sometimes, during those infrequent moments
when the lack of outside stimulation
permits continuation of my quest
for inner peace and tranquillity;
Sometimes, when the melancholy rantings
of my Irish soul abate;
when all the things I have done,
and still have to do, stop clamouring;
Sometimes I catch the glimpse of a young man's visions.
Many and varied they prance before me,
Breathing soft sighs of "what if, what if?"
I smile sadly at their adolescent petulance.
Sometimes I hug them to my chest to soothe their confusion,
and tell of dreams: dreams distilled by time,
filtered by love, by experience, by life,
into the heady brew I sip today.
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