In the garden of life, where hours bloom and fade,
Two paths diverge, like twin brothers, shades of gray.
One leads to opium's sweet, seductive night,
A siren's call, that whispers "lose yourself, it's alright."

Identity, a mask that hides the face,
A never-ending chase, to prove a pointless pace.
Competing in wrong arenas, a jest, a joke, a play,
Where time, the thief, steals away, and laughs as you decay.

But, on the other path, where sunshine pours and gleams,
Fruit ripens, sweet and luscious, the taste of life's extremes.
Earning, investing, valuing each tick and each tock,
The rhythm of productivity, where time becomes a rock.

Oh, the irony, the cosmic joke, the twist of fate,
That time, the great equalizer, can be both friend and weight.
It steals away, yet gives, in equal measure, it seems,
A mystery, a riddle, that only life's wisest dreams.

So, let us cherish, the fruits of our labor and toil,
And shun the opium's deadly allure, that sweet, sweet soil.
For in the end, it's not the years we live, but the life we live in years,
That makes the difference, my friend, and wipes away our tears.

Thus, let us laugh, and dance, and sing, and make merry,
For time, the great jester, is playing tricks, and we're the jury.
And when the final curtain falls, and our time on earth is done,
Let's hope we've harvested, the fruits of life, and had fun!