Neighborhood
by: Billy Collins
What do I care
that they're tearing down
the nice old houses
and putting up brutal ones?
Before very long,
I'll be just a breeze
blowing around town,
trying to avoid all the wind chimes.
Yes, as you age, you do figure out that most things that get people angry or upset don't really matter all that much. That's what Billy Collins is getting at in this poem. In the end, it doesn't matter whether you're a billionaire or homeless, a great poet or a great bartender. What matters is whether you loved and were loved in return.
This afternoon, I learned that a friend from my wife's church passed away on May 4. His name was Joel, and my best memories of him involve sitting around a table before worship, listening to his stories and jokes. He always had a smile on his face and loved his family and friends dearly.
Saint Marty knows Joel is probably sharing a beer with Jesus right now.
Legacy
by: Martin Achatz
Will my kids feel my breath
in this poem when I'm gone?
Will they press it against
their cheeks, let my lips
kiss them one last time?
Or will they pack it in a box,
haul it to Goodwill where
it will sit on a shelf, whispering
to grandma's old reading glasses?
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