Self

'Tis an art to part with what one knows;
To smell the world without a nose.
To go beyond what once was near,
To be alive and know no fear.

'Tis quite something to be proud;
To know you make the moving cloud.
To feel the rain and greet it,
To see one's fate and meet it.

'Tis a feat to see around;
To stand upon one's own-built mound.
To see for miles in all directions,
To write and cope with snide rejections.

'Tis grand to be alive;
To feel one has survived ~
One's own former self.