I’ve got to move while I’ve got life in me,

while the summer sun is kindly heating,

while my legs are strong and my feet can still bear me–

I’m no trudger or slow-moving slugger,

there’s wind in my lungs pushing me quicker.

So I’ll run and I’ll run and I’ll run

and I’ll make my body the body of a runner,

sweat out my blood and my hunger,

step after step, hot feet and sweaty back,

propelled forward by a human propensity

to resist the static sheepish withering of entropy

and use this world to roam and ramble and dance

and run as fast as legs will allow.

That is, to move like we were made to move,

as a kangaroo or frog hopping,

a hyena laughing,

a dog barking,

I’ll run and I’ll run and I’ll run and

I’ll be like a flower blooming.