Happy Birthday, Thomas

If I'd been a cowboy, it might've ended well.

Somewhere on the ramble, I'm sure I'd have to sell

My guns along the highway. My coins to the table

To make a gambler's double, I'd double debts to pay.

Prob'ly shrink and slink away, It mightn't've ended well.

What If I'd been a sailor? I think it might've ended well.

From August to May

For a searat of man drifting through eternal blue, aboard the finest Debris.

I might've called the shanties. From daybreak to storm's set, lines stay Taught, over rhythm unbroken.

But, oh, there's a schism unspoken, a mighty calling of the lee.

An absentminded Pirate, unaccustomed to the sea;

To the land, a traitor. I think it mightn't've ended well.

What might've worked for me? What might've ended well?

Soldier, to bloody sally forth through hell?

Teacher of glorious stories to tell?

Man of gold, or stores to sell?

Lover to a gentle belle?

Maybe a camel;

A seashell.

What mightn't've been a life where it mightn't've ended well?

Dylan Thomas, born on this day in 1914