I predict,
That when you meet your end,
You'll wish you'd spent more time in jest.
I predict,
That before you're buried deep,
You'll know that you didn't do your best.
I predict,
That as a lamb chopped sheep,
You'll claim you left before your time.
I predict,
That when you comprehend,
You'll wish you'd stepped over more lines.
I predict,
That when you die,
You'll wish you had done more.
I predict,
That when you pass,
Your bucket list will pour.
You're life's ambitions reduced to a puddle,
You're life's objectives demoted to a muddle.
But if you don't believe in soothsayer dreams,
Pick up your bucket and head to a stream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem