Those long legs
How do they gage your gait
As you walk each morning
To meet the opening day
Who hears the whisper
Between your sole
And the listening earth
In what dialect, their dialogue
How loud, the ditty of the dust
The powdery prowess of its message
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The granular grandeur
Of its soft, embracing patience
How do those long arms
Paddle you through
The ocean of the wind
And its liquid lore
At dawns resonant with untold tales
Of the dreams of yester-nights
The chimeric metaphysics of metaphors
So indigenous to your figurative versatility
The sweet sweat of gentle jogs
The huff and puff of grateful lungs
And muscles honed and toned for
Endless promenades in the Orchard of Grace