790 5 7
|
It is claimed we choose/
conditions of our servitude.
|
954 21 11
|
The lungs forsake their love of breath. The arms/
resist throwing off the small weight of sheets.
|
769 14 9
|
Endurance wears the soul thin.//
The hour to succumb ticks ever closer.
|
572 15 9
|
Dread and drudgery sour each day
|