Hardballkid *** (3)

I, the chance-becomer from creation,
Blind subject to defending day;
I, this blith structure of sensation,
Prisoned and impassioned by my clay.
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Here's Me; who neither ask nor aim to be
More than the mote in heaven's revealed ray.
Here's Life, that might move forunate and free,
Condemned by circumstance to doom's dismay.