Why do we worry about who will cry when we die ?
It seems futile,
Perhaps we merely seek an answer to - who wants us happy and alive.
Why do we want to know who will be impressed ?
It is just the stress ,
Of wanting to belong to an elite club I guess.
Why do we worry about the road not taken
Our road by another is 'not taken' either,
And yet we pine,
For the grass that is greener just across the line.
I see everywhere it seems - puzzled minds,
That wonder why they missed the train,
Just by inches.
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