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Per usual, the The Daily Post [and anatomy] drive me to write poetry… Did you know that you are born with 270 bones and by the time you reach adulthood, you have 206?

Interesting, no?

How you live does matter. Do everything in your power not to destroy the beautiful machine that is your body and the beautiful light that is your soul. Mother Nature may be working against us, but all the same. ____________________________________________________________

Ask any doctor and you will hear

Of an anatomical truth they hold dear:

Her Bones

Upon birth there were two-seven-zero

The good ‘ol days

When her dad was her Hero

The wonder years

When she wasn’t afraid to look in the mirror

Time goes by

She doubts Mother Nature and flinches from Father Time

The days of two-seven-zero sit atop a mountain of lies she just can’t climb

Her Bones

Ask any doctor and you will hear

Of an anatomical truth they hold dear:

By the third decade of Life

She has encountered the winds of change and the aires of Strife

Now There is but two-zero-six

64 Lost

The threshold of Innocence has long since been crossed

It’s strange, you know?

She can’t recall choosing which got to stay

And which had to go

64 Lost

Surely, this can’t be right

How did so many slip through the cracks without recognition,

Let alone a Fight?

As she sat and pondered this unexpected plight

The evidence began to mount

The pains, the sorrows, they were more numerous than she could count

Her Bones

Of Courage

Of Cheer

Of Strength

Of Hope

Of Pride

Of Humor

Seem to have all but dried up

Was this what it meant to be an adult; to be mature?

There seemed to be so much disappointment one had to endure

She used to think she could never be quite sure

She sat at her desk, paper and pen, determined to disprove such a cynical path

But there it was, the price of Life, indeed had its Cost

Such painfully simple math

64 Lost