I'm sluggish alright,
and a little sore,
but then again, I'm fifty-two
and life is pot of gold
at the end of a faint rainbow.
If I were a tick,
I'd wave my legs
in the flowery June air,
jump on an aging mammal
and eat til I was a zeppelin.
Of course, I might get picked off,
but ticks don't sit around worrying.
Me, I just need some energy
so I can jump out of this chair
and latch on to something good.
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