Irradiations XXVIII

I remember, there was a day During which I did not write a line of verse: Nor did I speak a word to any woman, Nor did I meet with death.

Yet all that day I was fully occupied: My eyes saw trees, clouds, streets, houses, people; My lungs breathed air; My mouth swallowed food and drink; My hands seized things, my feet touched earth, Or spurned it at my desire.

On that day I know I would have been sufficiently happy, If I could have kept my brain from bothering at all About my next trite poem; About the tedious necessities of sex; And about the day on which I would at last meet death.