One day, When distant morrows have been spent by expectancy, When the ambience of the future has been choked by predestination, The world, once anticipated with sweet taste buds wears the rind of sourness, perhaps sweet - sourness, overworked by the agile heels of youthful exhuberance. Experience dings the dong of visceral thumps Bones, work excellently at relaxing, And wisdom locks arm with every vocal march. Sooner,these lids shall embrace each other in a permanent hug, permitting the mother of all journeys.