What fortune
I feel!
To portion my meals,
A stealing
Of other (less) fortunates

Gratefully alive
With parts organized
Contrasting
My more cluttered companions:

Those born trees and stones
Lack minds and bones
To moan
At their own disfortune

Neither can
Our wild kin
Conditioned
To give their attention

To lesser matters
Pressing matters
A life brutish and short

A life yet mine
Had not my mind
Been given, grown
Unbeknown to me

So I may think
So I may drink
And humbly boast
My luck