I used to be able to hold a note
in my lungs and my diaphragm
and still have some left at the rest.
(In those days I pictured Valkyrie horns atop my head
and a bosom bursting with high B’s.)
Now I feel the note rushing through my pipes
defying my attempts to control it,
strangling off at the end,
A metaphor for life and youth and death?
No, I am not that poetical.
But then, we can all benefit