When they set off together, 
Two friends, at twenty-two; 
They weren't sure where they would go, 
Or just what they would do, 

But then, that didn't signify. 
For life was in the doing, 
And being free at twenty-two 
Meant going, feeling, viewing. 

As spring turned into summer, 
With backpacks and with fire, 
And just a bit to spend, but very 
Little to require 

They went and saw, and met and learned. 
They danced and slept and clambered, 
And yes, a passing eye might think 
That they were rich and pampered, 

They weren't. They had worked and saved, 
And this was what they'd worked for. 
To see the world beyond their town, 
The lives they had a thirst for -- 

The strange thing: one of them came back, 
While one stayed without urging; 
A year went by in no time, and 
Their life paths were diverging 

For what they saw and what they felt, 
We never quite the same: 
For each of us is different, and 
Each plays a different 

Game