What gives you the right to just bust loose,
turn on the juice,
smack the world with your bizarro-ack attack?

Who set you free to run amuck,
burst forth unstuck,
have havoc cry every time you whim to kick up muck?

Why do you now want to change the game,
set staid domains untame,
decry all that has proceeded the flux of your breaking-news barrage?

Ah, Spring, you freaky son-of-a-bitch,
birthing clown flowers bursting forth here and where,
spoiling my beautiful timeless ice fantasy,
breathing pulse into utter inertness itself.

What bliss there is, is this:

• 
  
  Being more important to a special someone sometimes than to the rest of everyone ever.
  
  
• 
  
  The ability to still the mind, especially when it questions its own existence.
  
  
• 
  
  Music in one’s ears even when there’s nothing there to hear.

Come to think of it, s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g is a lot like changing your vehicle’s oil.  No, that doesn’t mean that you should stretch every 3,000 miles walked/run or change your oil everyday (though I suppose sometimes it’s behooving to oil up one’s body and stretch one’s mileage).

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a Stretch-a-Matic that would stretch you out everyday in every which way just enough and no more? !

Okay: now  s-t-r-e-t-c-h !  (Do it for me, if not for yourself )