I dream of days, of years gone by,

As sitting here I softly cry,

Beset with introspective pain;

Those choices can’t be made again.

 

Through carefree youth of thoughtless time,

Before I reached my promised prime,

Ignoring counsel, worded plain;

Those choices can’t be made again.

 

As I approached maturity,

And gradually began to see

Decisions are not preordained;

Those choices can’t be made again.

 

Yet even though I know this fact,

Predictions are so inexact.

Uncertainty runs through my brain;

Those choices can’t be made again.

 

And when at last life’s course is run,

I contemplate what I have done;

I warn my children, all in vain;

Those choices can’t be made again.