What Matters
Written: September 11, 2026, for a contest sponsored By Margarita Lillico
Please listen to the poem lyrics in the sound video
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At five, what counts is the moon in my room—
a kite, stones in my pack, and a balloon.
My mother's warm hand, and grass after rain,
The world is vast, and wonderment is plain.
At fifteen, what matters is being seen,
a name on a wall, a place in the scene;
A friend who stay when the whole world departs,
and one reckless love that can break two hearts.
At thirty, what counts is building a life—
a weather-proof roof, a child, and a wife.
To stake my hours on a future I trust,
And learn what to hold when desire turns dust.
What counts at fifty is knowing what stays,
the unhurried morning; light through the haze.
Voices I almost lost tracking for years—
hands that head to hold me midst miles and tears.
At seventy, what counts is slight a thing—
a chair in sunlight, the hush before spring.
One face I can name, one hand holding mine—
and enough breath left to say, I am fine.
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