Tho my pages may be numbered,
the funny’s unencumbered.
Cos I yam what I yam and you’re my sweet potato,
couldn’t be none sweeter that I’ll ever know.
I got no can of magic greens.
Ain’t got no bag of magic beans.
I sure ain’t got no knock-out punch,
but under this cap I’ve got a hunch.
With anchors weighed and pipe aglow,
sunset’s waiting, our past in tow.
A compass points to where forgot,
our destination chosen, journey’s not.
A course set to forward the future leads the way.
Tomorrow’s story’s drawn to us, colored by today.
And I yam what I yam and you’re my sweet potato.
So let’s open these hearts and see where we’ll go.