Oh, to breathe, the pure air,

Only our Earth provides freely for us to share.


It goes, unheeded, until such time,

Under water, or at mealtime. 


Gasping, choking, chest tight and eyes wide.

Air's necessity, we cannot hide. 


Or, in disease and old age we dread.

Straining to breathe and clear our head.


Water, water, everywhere.

We slake our thirst without a care.


When we question water pure,

We look to water as a cure.


Comes the drought we'll drink our fill,

Of any rotten, disease-infested swill.


Food of plenty is a culinary delight.

Food of famine is an essential plight.


Food of plenty makes us sick.

Food of famine gives us grit.


Sex without procreation is a sin.

Procreation is doing us in.


Still the drive remains alive.

How do we keep doing it and survive?


And, long forgotten, the greatest need of all.

Reduce gravity, and we will shrivel, without it we will fall.


Copyright 2000 © Ronald W. Hull



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