Upon a bleak and windswept street I stood,

a blissful sprite among the charmless homes.

With fondness I beheld their greying wood,

for I had just emerged from catacombs.

Six million skulls did to my ear declare

that I would never know their names or tales

and never again would be theirs to wear

a body of flesh that enjoys and ails.

Transformed I found the familiar scene;

and worthy of joy, the wind on my face,

for flesh and sinew, the human machine,

entwined my bones in its precious embrace.

Sick, tired, or hungry, still I can thrive:

It's a beautiful gift to be alive!