Here at this table, here, I sit;
My pen is moving, hand keeps fit.
With both my eyes I exercise,
To left, to right, and up and down.
But best of all, my thoughts move, free—
Such exercise is good for me!
Now I’m in shape to write a poem,
To climb up mountain Rhyme, my home!
All dumbbells I refrain to use;
All power-walking I refuse!
My pen is gripped with muscled force,
And straight along each line my course!
My heartbeats steady, lungs at ease,
Imagination soars o’er seas!
A ship in storm, a man at rail—
His laughter like a friendly Hail!
A hurricane sweeps through a glen
Where, lashed to trees are singing men.
A horse runs swift across a plain,
His rider laughs in her glad gain!
O Exercise, sweet Exercise!
For hand and mind, and misty eyes!
Oh, truth to tell, I do it well,
While at this table, here, I sit!