like a soulmate he's your penguin

The myriad choices of his fateSet themselves out upon a plateFor him to chooseWhat had he to lose

It's a breath you took too late.It's a death that's worse than fate.

Grace will meet you in the valley, and her song will carry you home on the wind to another sky filled with ethereal beauty unfolding and love everlasting.

We should get jerseys, cause we make a good team; but yours would look better than mine, cause you're outta my league.

Sadly as some old mediaeval knightGazed at the arms he could no longer wield,The sword two-handed and the shining shieldSuspended in the hall, and full in sight,While secret longings for the lost delightOf tourney or adventure in the fieldCame over him, and tears but half concealedTrembled and fell upon his beard of white,So I behold these books upon their shelf,My ornaments and arms of other days;Not wholly useless, though no longer used,For they remind me of my other self,Younger and stronger, and the pleasant waysIn which I walked, now clouded and confused.