I shout the body electric; for singing will not quite do,

Few words express the craftsmanship,

Yet formally I offer my quixotic view.

 

In head and toe, praise to the very tip,

A Triumph of Life, the body is a bust;

Marvelous marble between perfected, sculpted dips.

 

For the sake of humanity, arrant adulation is a must,

With lack of self-respect, vanity becomes our bane.

Clouded by the body diminutive, we think with lust.

 

For the same sacred sake the body ought be maintained,

And abuse of our physical form broods eroding anguish.

Dolled or drugged we bring blasphemous, intangible strain.

 

They say “the body is a Temple”, and that’s what I wish, so

I’ll release the terza rima, to let us and our rhyme flourish.

 

The body too is a river, flowing congruous to the soul;

Fade away the waters, and this life is out of our control.

 

-W.B. October