Stuff
When we are born,we have nothing
Bare as we can be, as we grow
We accumulate, more than we can see
We fill our lives, continually with things
We never need, it seems gluttonous.
By midlife our things have grown
Take up loads of space
Why do we continue to collect
Like a squirrel filling its cheeks
Waiting for another time.
It's all so senseless this pile we need to have
For when we grow old , we leave this earth
The same way we were born
With nothing
And all those things
We cherished so
May as well
Have blown away
We really did not own
Anything
Except our
Soul.
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