Carefree joie de vivre spirit contingent upon...

healthily functioning bowels and sterling bill of health
and more invaluable than countless untold wealth.

Though legal tender
certainly complements the comfort of stay'n alive,
the grim reaper one cannot connive.

Money cannot buy immortality, nor love,
yet gobs of disposable cash
to allow, enable, and provide one
to live modesty can be gone within a flash.

Due to a series of unfortunate events
that even challenge Lemony Snicket
impossible mission to escape nor outflank
an eventual scrimmage,
and be carted away to Elysian fields
impossible mission to stave
the one way journey
into the Netherland
hosted by none other than
the personification of death
in the form of a cloaked exo-skeleton
wielding a large scythe,
nevertheless how ideal
to savor one last victory,
and experiencing the closest approximation
viz eternity courtesy vis a vis
scoring and clinching a win
(cue the most played song by Queen
blasted at sports stadiums
We are the Champions,)
and acquiring temporary reprieve
(while in the hands of an
when hard, leather-covered ball
cruises thru the wicket.

Whenever physical unwellness
finds me feeling under the weather,
within a mental fog,
a stronger than usual tug linkedin
to analogous umbilical cord
reminds earthling of his fleeting existence,
how imperiled his temporary lifespan
regarding being granted occupancy
within this incarnation
videlicet body electric
courtesy gravity doth tether
mine corporeal existence.

Though winning the lottery
would be a dogsend,
(what with people unbeknownst to me
suddenly getting chummy)
meat and muscles housed
on these lovely bones
would nevertheless meet their demise.

A recent prolonged illness
characterized by violent nausea,
a heavy gut wrenching cough,
and physical weakness
(where sleeping on the lazy boy E-Z chair
provided the only salvation)
minimally ameliorated the chest wracking
and rib cage rattling hacking away,
this with accompanying fatigue
(since quality sleep eluded yours truly)
found me unable to stand
from a sitting position
(even with the assistance
of the wife pulling me
up by the hand)
felt like a worse fate than death,
which medication to treat
a touch of coronavirus
finally helped the malady be eradicated,
and thankfully at the time of this writing
I cherish healthiness restored.

Now my psyche free and clear
to fantasize once again
winning the PowerBall lottery
(a poor man's dream)
unless there might be
some anonymous altruistic,
dynamistic, humanistic
kind hearted philanthropic individual
able, eager, ready and willing
to finance the promising aspiration
of a sixty-six year poet laureate,
and will even settle for posthumous
fame and fortune for the wife
to benefit from the windfall,
since she relies on her husband
(as her emotional support animal)
to budget the paltry money matters.