At Tha Thua they sweat,
eat ice, jump in river.
At Whitsands we’re wet,
wear coats and just shiver.

At noon, garlic toast is a must.
Half-an-hour later it tastes just like dust.

Our viewpoints change to meet new data
as smart clothes adjust to the Fashion Dictator.

(And yet the dog with mange
seems oblivious to change;
is equally ill at ease
in hot sun, shade or breeze!)

At twenty I run,
At sixty rehearse the past,
at eighty, well, breathe in my last!

(And yet that dog with mange
is still oblivious to change;
continues ill at ease
in shade, hot sun or breeze.)

It all comes down to the struggle to survive,
the endlessly obstructed urge just to stay alive.
All (including dog) use just one rule as measure,
avoidance of pain and pursuit of pleasure.

Pain leaves an imprint which says, “Leave it be!”
The sirens of pleasure leave a note, “Follow me!”

(Poem from BLONDIN)


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