THE DASH
            I read of a man who stood to speak
         At the funeral of a friend
             He referred to the dates on her tombstone
              From the beginning...to the end.
                He noted that first came the date of her birth
               And spoke of the following date with tears,
             But he said what mattered most of all
               Was the dash between those years.
               For that dash represents all the time
            That she spent alive on earth...
            And now only those who loved her
           Know what that little line is worth.
              For it matters not, how much we own;
             The cars...the house...the cash.
             What matters is how we live and love
            And how we spend our dash.
            So think about this long and hard...
            Are there things you'd like to change?
              For you never know how much time is left.
              (You could be at dash mid-range.)
              If we could just slow down enough
              To consider what's true and real,
              And always try to understand
              The way other people feel.
             And be less quick to anger,
              And show appreciation more
                And love the people in our lives
                  Like we've never loved before.
                 If we treat each other with respect,
                  And more often wear a smile...
                  Remembering that this special dash
                   Might only last a little while.
                     So, when your eulogy's being read
                       With our life's actions to rehash...
                        Would you be proud of the things they say
                           About how you spent your dash?
                                                                 unknown
                                
                      
                      

                        
                                Thanks Tony for sending this wonderful poem.