The Aches And Pains Are Worth It
I think Whitman called them halcyon days.
But I'm getting older and my memory is
like an old shoe, the shine gone and the sole
been so many places there's no telling
one groove from another. The feet, the body,
don't matter much anymore. The pain
is an old friend to put up with. He's
a nuisance who reminds you to look
both ways before crossing. Peace comes
from knowing the score. There're no delusions.
It all weaves together into an astonishing
and beautiful pattern. It's the poem
I could never write. Why spoil it?
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