Born in a sterile hospital room
Died at sea, a centennial groom
Lost a third from wannabe messiahs
Now I chase storms and floods
Hackers and wildland fires
Born to run, cry, teach and sing
Born to bring joy and pain to those
In my social ring
Born to sound alarms and kick up a fuss
Born to mentor the next generation
The future heroes among us
On many an asphalt path
And many a busy freeway
I have wandered the bayous
And downtown street maze
Through wasted years and fruitful moments
Through tearful fears and adventure roamings
Through treasured sites and horrific scenes
Through bloody fights and love-making screens
With a sense of accomplishment
And a tinge of regret
With an urge to admonishment
And an explorer's net
With a leap and a shout
And a kick to a foot-dragger's ass
With a passion pure and devout
And access to a grower's legal stash
Still travelling this long-stretched dirt trail
Until a dead end comes or a casket sealed with fresh nails
Still travelling with hope and eager expectations
The roads of the treasure map
Reserved for both the trembling and audacious
~ Gunnar Våken
