All the world’s a stage, a page,

That fills itself the more we age.

We start with steps, increase our depth,

And pretty soon it’s pirouettes.

We start to think, we start to dream,

Our hopes will surely burst a seam.

But then we see the front row faces,

The empty stares, the big disgraces.

We missed a step, “right here, look up,

Go back. Deplete your half full cup.

Why the anger? Why the face...