I took a breath one day, began
to breathe in 1953
(after the war and victory)
a little man
unable to see.
Since then I’ve breathed a lot,
managed to shout,
escaped my cot,
run about
and used my lungs in cold and hot.
My chest has risen, sunk.
I’ve walked and swum and loved and slept
and all the while I’ve kept
on breathing in and talking junk
- on my out-breath - words inept.
But now I’ve started to yawn
en route to 2033
worrying (only occasionally)
about just when a little man
will take a final in-breath-out. We’ll see.
This one has such depth... awesome!
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