Written after seeing a very old man in a hospital bed. He wore a breathing device. Lying next to him was a toddler.

My son, for you it's just begun
The path will follow where you lead
I'm doomed to watch the setting sun
And mourn the signs I failed to heed

No burden's heavy as regret
My wish and luck did not collide
For application was not met
And soon the watchman stole the ride

Direct your feet to gainful ends
With purpose carved on granite dreams
Keep straight through all the hills and bends
For deviations only bring

Excuses for a fruitless trip
Self-pity shapes no victory
Now that I’ve learned it’s come to this
Without the doers, I’d not breathe

I’ve naught to give but these few words
An epitaph to chart your course
"Attempt" and "do" are different verbs
You must provide the driving force

And not look back, but carry on
Until your mission’s fairly met
And only then will you have won
And tasted life without regret