Having Enough

There isn’t much I want or need In terms of concrete things, For any purchase, guaranteed, Comes weighted down with strings. Since through the years, the stuff I buy Accumulates until There’s no more room, although I’ll try To more than take my fill. Without the wall space, I can’t hang Some art that does attract. Another pair of earrings? Dang! I’ve plenty; that’s a fact. My closet’s full of clothes and shoes Yet new ones catch my eye. By giving in, what’s there to lose? Yet if I get them - why? My older self pulls in the reins; I don’t need more new stuff Because, by now, I have the brains To know I have enough.