Choices

We eventually reach a fork,
To fly up or move down,
To sail and not dock.
To yet smile than frown.
    
And we have to choose.

For a loss could turn a cup.
And a win would fade in time.
Now is just an instant,
That quenches by some lime.  

Walk pass such moments,  
As if a carve of future.
Time will be then,
All framed in a picture.