My hands like knotted twigs on an old tree
Have no beauty that a man can see.
The bones themselves are damaged like soft flesh.
Yet my hands will do the work I wish.
My legs are bowed, my feet have both collapsed.
I have no arches, yes I can adapt.
My spine is fractured, so I’ve lately shrunk.
Yes I still can walk with this old trunk.
My legs made women jealous I recall.
That was long before I had the Fall
But still my mind is active and enjoys
The arts of love, the music when it’s paused.
I still dwell in my body senses five
They tell me that it’s good to be alive
How my heart sings 