Often times at my dreadful old age I wonder at my value
My worth is something that may at this stage still be due
What might I do to fix this world or even this tiny home
Would anyone even notice if my soul decided to roam
Our value is determined but what we can contribute
Not by the anguish or pain that we may distribute
I have not the courage to simply fly to that place
Where all the worthless will sleep and take up space
So I find myself inflicting nuisance on those I love
Where I have never fit like a warm winter glove
Perhaps the latest sneak attack on my very being
Will allow me the simple privilege of finally seeing
Maybe at last end my brutal waste of time and air
I wonder then will anyone with a mind really care
Like millions of others in my sad world of fear and doubt
I must wait and see what wondering about value is really all about

WHC 2024