I read of a man,
Who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on his headstone,
From beginning to the end.
He noted that first came his date of birth,
And spoke of the following with tears.
But said what mattered most of all,
Was the dash between those years.
For that represented all his time spent here on Earth,
And now only those who loved him know,
What the little line was worth.
For it matters not what we own,
The cars, the house, the cash.
What matters is how we live and love,
And how we spend our dash.