Adventurous Life
Everything is
perfect.
I am able to smile
larger and larger
till
the mandible
articulation begins aching.
I can do this with
the noble goal
to create high-spirit
around,
and I never complain
myself.
All is more than
perfect.
I live the life I
have written,
I am loved by the
woman I love,
I have two wonderful
children,
and I also could
mention many other
good things,
in the case I am
asked.
All is incredibly
well-arranged.
The blood pulsates,
the heart beats, the
legs
carry me on wherever
I wish to,
the lungs breath
pretty normal,
I have no aging
problem,
maybe except
I need now to wear
glasses
while reading;
but I am forty,
and soon I will be
fifty,
and so on.
I do not want to
complain at all,
I rather could say I
am happy,
not to mention money
is not
among my life’s
priorities.
It is as though
everything were
especially for me.
I write poems, I say
to each and everyone
how lovely the
weather is, always,
and I guess this is
the most adventurous life
I can ever live.
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