Come close to me, and I will whisper a secret in your ear. I am scratching myself like a divine old dog, napping right behind that tree.

I am a bag lady asleep on the grate,

the geese flying South.

I am like a wise old friend.

Walk to the end of the path,

and take a sharp right.

I am the trickle in the fountain,

the shadow behind the grass.

Come close to me, trust me,

and I will tell you this:

What the poet wrote is that the past is the

past, and the present is what your life is,

and my secret is that it is your choice,

what that will be.

And noone else in the world can change it.