If you can hear this, you are dying…
The day will come
When my breaths are laboured,
When I actu’ly hear myself each rasp.
Till the lungs strike dumb,
And my voice goes wayward,
Rattling-out in a final gasp.
As if to say
“Ah Life, you took my breath away…”
And when I pant, I wolf in oxygen,
Corroding me within,
And breezing down my three-score-ten.
And when I yawn, I practice when I die,
By choking with a grin.
But better not to stifle such a cry –
For sooner to inspire and gulp down life
Than just expire in one long sigh.
So ev’ry breath is one breath less,
And yet how many do I get ?
I couldn’t even start to guess,
But far-too-lots to be a threat.
It’s twenty-thousand breaths-a-day,
But who on Earth is keeping score ?
I’ve wasted sev’ral just to say
I still possess a lifetime’s more.
Rhyming Couplets 