Cardboard Boxes

Discarded in yesterdays trash Cardboard boxes never last New things arrive in them Old things stored in them Rotting boxes on a voyage Leftovers to those with out any coinage Tom O’Seary had come down on his luck Just couldn’t seem to make a buck An elder at church who snuck a shot in a lurch Now he sleeps in the rain Cardboard box umbrellas His home and his pain One cold winter day Poor old tom was dead where he lay Inside his cardboard box Was his last writings and will and the lot I, Tom O’Seary of no determined address I write these words, for they are my last will I confess I regret all the pompous ways I was an ass I missed the meaning of the messages, thus I was crass Now you will lay me below the green grass I thought I’d be looking down from heavens gates of glass I was wrong about that too, so wrong I am just rotting here in the green green grass My purpose in life may not have been clear The irony of death is now I know what’s so dear Live this life with kindness and love Or else on your grave will be the droppings of white doves