Shakespeare compared life to a stage,
Yet by deep thinking it’s like a page,
A blank it is before you are born,
Then comes the moment that you put on life’s gown,
Though you hold the pen and decide what to write,
The Almighty God fills your pen with ink,
The past is always full of things you did not do right,
But leave it as it is for you used indelible ink.
Think of the present and write the best you can,
Use the best handwriting till your life is done,
Work hard so as to brighten your book,
Let it be attractive to those who look,
There is always the entry of another person,
That person adds another handwriting,
It might seem cumbersome to have one page to write on,
But hold on for what is between you is binding.
The future always appears unexpected,
It’s not once that you find it dented,
It’s as if somebody decided to crumple your page,
Everywhere you turn you find a thorny hedge,
Take life slowly for every hedge has a rose,
Life sometimes stinks but you can always hold your nose,
Better a dull life on this ground,
Than fiery fire instead of a crown.