The Dream

I was back many years ago, mother dragging me to school,
wearing a Fair Isle pullover, with Brilliantined hair,
if I'd been someone else, more likely to care,
instead of progressing with a catalogue of errors.

I plucked this boy from my mother's arms,
and took his place, ready to amend those indiscretions,
my life was going to be good with sensible decisions,
no longer did I stamp and shout, it was the new 'me.'

Something went wrong - can't change events of history,
it was my karma to do what I was going to do;
then mother looked at me and said: 'Which one are you?'
I said how many times: 'I am who you want me to be,'

All turned out well, mother left me in the school,
it was the other one who turned out to be a fool.