Simplicity: an englyn cyrch

Simple things make me content:
knowing where my money’s spent,
poems written, letters sent,
feeling good the rent’s been paid,
evenings without things to do,
working ’til the work is through,
reading a good book or two
‘neath a tree’s new morning shade.

Children play along the walk,
neighbors come to sit and talk,
flowers bloom along the block:
roses, phlox and marigolds.
No advantage to be sought,
Only groceries to be bought;
Smiling at the others, caught
where I too once was so bold.

Day turns into night again,
phone calls come from kin and friends;
happiness for me, depends
on how I spend such days.
Simple, yes, but never stale,
these nothings make grand things pale:
seasons changing without fail,
the thin veil of nature’s ways.

Offered more, I would refuse;
Lest by chance, this life I’d lose.
Let it humor or amuse
society – I don’t mind.
I will walk by my own path;
that shall be my epitaph;
Let those who’ll grieve on my behalf
keep laughter and I entwined.

Simple things, like life and mirth.
These are treasures of great worth,
pleasures of our time on earth
that nurse our souls to health.
Money, fame and power, too –
all will fade when life is through;
what remains, and stays as true
defines what you have as wealth.

14 APR 2004

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