There is an Irish love song there somewhere,
the one where your familly are your friends
and biting off more than you can chew
will be the death of you

And then 50 years later the melancholy
envelops you as you settle down to brews
looking at the fields of your life
grazing in the paddock of your mind.

Someone once wrote

When you travel to your field
remember me well well
it was not my idea to bu an allotment
of the soul, my familys moved,