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.