Here is to a year of living dangerously
because those who dole out portions miss the whole
point that dawns do not rise with guarantees.
I think we should abandon the word sparingly,
for there’s no sense to the notion less is more.
Here is to a year of living dangerously.
No map can measure all the world we have to see;
the distance to be covered by expanding minds.
The question is tomorrow will you go with me?
The plan is to pursue joy so relentlessly
we have no choice but to leave the rest to chance.
Drift corners in this year of living dangerously.
The shackles some pinned on you rather heartlessly
are a burden I’ll drag anywhere you choose,
to bury so the sun sets on them splendidly.
I scarcely can count all the gifts life’s granted me,
still there’s little doubt which one I treasure most.
I want to carry you through years spent living dangerously;
may all the dawns of all our days break with you facing me.
