Sunday, March 21, 2004

I was cleaning the car this morning, (boy, did that car need cleaning or what? When will my children and their friends know how to keep the car clean!) and suddenly, I have been thinking about Rhett's poem I Protest. The poem was prompted by my challenge to write a two part poem, the first of which is about something he detests, then arguing for the other side, on the next one.

Anyway, I was thinking, yes, if I get to be old as say, 90, and wasted, what will my wake look like? Most of my friends have probably been gone. Who will be there to grieve for me? My grandchildren's children? I don't think so! My children? They would have been just as old and worrying about themselves.:-)

This leads me on to another important thing. When is the right time to go? Is there a right time? Whatever it is, I don't really care. If I have to go, I will go. Who knows what God has planned for me? Fatalistic as it may sound, surely, dying is not within my hands. One thing is sure though, there is a poem lurking in there somewhere.

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