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May 2017
The blood that’s coursing through our veins
We see in random drops,
But most of it flows on its paths
Until the day it stops.

The neurons firing in our brains
Send information on,
Accomplishing their duties
‘Til the moment we are gone.

The muscles that each bone sustains
Enable us to move,
Though as we age, they slow things down,
With nothing left to prove.

The organs, set in their domains,
Perform without a pause.
They pump and filter, that despite
The damage that we cause.

Our bodies work through stress and strains
Without our even knowing
And when we die we never pay
The debt to them we’re owing.
Written by
Ilene Bauer  Manhattan
(Manhattan)   
208
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