I don’t want to die
by the passage of time
the encroaching of rust
with a cover of dust
no, let my heart give out
from the sheer force of use
from the cost of the love
I refuse to reduce
let my hands be cracked
and my body be wracked
from the lifting and giving
—I will not protect
myself from the weight of
the burden of life
I’ll carry the burdens of
others, all night
so furrow my brow with
the plough-blade of thought
and give me the scars of
the battles I’ve fought
and weaken my legs
with the distance I’ve run
and so if I wear out
and fade out and come
to an age where I’m
battered and bruised—
I’ll hold my head up
and know it’s because
my body was put
to good use
