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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