If I Can

If I can,
go back to the house I lived when I was three years old,
grap my own shoulders, and,
tell me that it's OK,
that Mom and Dad are fighting (they loved each other,
they just didn't know what they want)

If I can,
go back to my sixth grade classroom,
and tell me it's OK to day dream,
because knowledge will not be important,
but dreams will.

If I can,
go back to my college dorm,
and tell me it's OK to skip a class,
and not worry about the future,
because the future will be kind to me,
if I stay adventurous.

If I can,
go back to my wedding day,
and thank myself, on marrying the girl,
who sat on the sidewalk of London, smiling,
when we missed the bus to Heathrow.

If I can,
I wouldn't change any outcome,
only the process: fewer complaints,
more attentions, and kind words,
to people around me,
take more pictures.