It used to be, as soon as I felt strong,
as if I’d win whatever I desire,
I got a cold, or fell, or something wrong
befell me, like that spurt of strength was dire
prophecy I’d suffer sick reverse,
a harbinger of brilliance doomed to pale.
I’ve learned distrust – such energy’s a curse
that signifies my health’s about to fail.

But what of now? For weeks I’ve felt within
a blooming potency that drives me out
of doors, that speeds my pace. Now I begin
to think of sprinting when I walk about.
This time tomorrow, I can sure assert,
I won’t be sick or weary. I won’t hurt.

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