I found a book abandoned under an oak, it seemed to be written by a strange old folk, and when opened it reads "ME" on the first page,
The words pierced through I like the ones of a great wise sage;
It told a tale I lived, was living, and what I had yet to live - And in one fell swing all my dreams and hopes it cleaved the last quarter was blank,
it ended with a full stop not an exclamation, question neither a hint drop.
I died quick, not knowing how or why, but when and where, and as i started making plans to avoid death's stare, it hit me that destiny doesn't happen here or there, but everywhere.
The book changed and I gained a few more pages, some questions and answer and a whole lot of prayers and the closure I sought, so I put it away,
but forgot to ask when do you want to read it, in a year, two, ten or twenty?
Or will you today