You are only eighteen, with the
patience of the young.
Your five books to write by twenty-five
are never getting done.
You have years in your near future that
you hardly will enjoy
Except the times you're drinking like a
man or acting like a boy,
You'll soon find dissatisfaction with
your choices and your goals.
Your planning and your future will
collapse, leaving a hole,
But don't panic – it's a hole you'll
fill with things and want and need,
and the things you don't write now will
be your future writing's seeds.
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