Whining Is Not Acceptable

Running breathlessly
- for that's how I run -
I may run out of breath,

or trip, tumble, topple, 
- the trek a cinch isn't -
leagues before the top,

then fall flat on my face.

You can jeer.
Jeering is acceptable.

But, idling in your farms,
fenced and too familiar,
- as in the tired allegories of yore -
whine not about absence of adventure
while I still venture:
whimpering worries the winds,
the winds worry my heart.

Running breathlessly
- for the air there is thin -
I may run out of zest,

and weaken, wear out, wilt
- the trek a cinch isn't -
leagues before the top,

then tread back with a lost face.

You can jeer.
But, sitting sullenly,
in your farms,
fenced and too familiar,
whine not.
Whining is not acceptable. 

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