Don’t be the man who works his whole life
Stuck in an office from eight to five.
Don’t be the woman who waits all her years
For a Prince Charming to help her survive.

Instead be the sailor
Who discovers new lands,
Who braves roiling waves and tempests and storms
With a weather-beaten face
And callused hands.

Don’t be the letters unsent in their drawers
Sealed with regret and inkblots and pain,
Marked with the tears of derelict lovers —
They sit in the shadows, gathering dust.

Instead be the shooting star,
Streaks of hope that light up the sky.
Before you go, fly fast and far
So they get to see some of your burning.