How does a man measure his life

How does a man measure his life?
By the days he lived as a rogue
and travelled thus forth to explore
the world shrinking and expanding
through each door, each land, each and own.
The cuisines tasted and wine swirled
beneath baking Sun or cool of moon
by the vineyard did he roam
watching fair maidens dance and giggle
or make love to her upon feathered downs
or ran as gayly down to the stream
and under the gaze of birds and bees
did they let the water surround
as the young ones fell
time and again into the throws of love
young, unspoilt by decorums and preferences of
family and friends and society.
How does a man measure his life?
To some it was naught but selfish frolics
amending broken hearts here,
and down the road leaving more behind?
How does a man do such thing?
Put a price on his memories?
The laughters had and the tears hidden
in that search for a lifetime of happiness.
As he rides that rusty old bike
down a straight country road
basking in golden light
with nothing more than the breeze as his own
and he’d breathe it all in,
the feeling
one with the wind
one with the world.
His.

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