If my body were my soul
I would have long
Scraggly grey white hair
And skin wrinkled and scarred
With the trauma of misuse.
My bones should be brittle
But would not break.
My teeth would be strong
For tearing and chewing,
But my tastes would typically
Run to the sweet rather
Than the bitter.
My eyes, though worn would
Yet be clear and watchful.
My muscles, while perhaps
A bit atrophied for joy
Would still carry me for
A little jig in spring showers.
My lungs could carry breath
Though my brain might
Be too dense.
Alas though I fear that
If my body were my soul,
My heart might ache
To pump...
