Long-winded

I am a mere old passing by poet
Who is a body just getting used

To grow old, to be long-winded,
To be in the roseate distraction

Of not being at all , by a big sea,
In a  liquidity of disappearance,

Like he with pass in his mouth,
I once passed by, on west wind

When  wind made such a pass.
Now I am passing by a  big sea

To get  used to not being at all,
Empty like sky, on a windy sea.

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