When I am old and nodding by the fire,
I fear I will be mourning what I've lost,
and crying over never having tossed
and turned, for choosing but to lie beside her.

How much I'll wish I'd took the chance and done
the things I thought that later I'd regret,
and acted when my heart told me to let
go and fear not what I could have begun.

If I had kissed her on that chilly night,
I'd need no glowing bars to keep me warm.
O, how I'll wish I took her in my arms,
when still I had the strength to hold her tight.