I’ve lived in pain for so long, I wouldn’t know what to do if it went away. It would be nice to walk without my stick, But where would I go that I don’t now? My early mornings by the bay are magic. I don’t need more. It would be nice to write without the pain to slow my hand, But every word I want to write, I do, And with the slower pace comes deeper thought. I don’t need more. It would be nice to breathe and eat without the fear of pain, But it does pass, and what I smell and eat I savor With passion while I can. I don’t need more. It would be nice to love with all the vigor of my youth, But sweet skills have come with time. Love made slowly may be best. I don’t need more. Do you?