By Paul E. Schindler, Jr.
Love the content,
Don’t care ‘bout the box.
Like wantin’ more time,
Not carin’ ‘bout clocks.
I’ve opened up my box,
Trying to give,
To you, our family,
And everyone who lives.
I love your box,
It ain’t half bad;
And when it’s gone,
I will be sad.
Not too sad, the way I see,
When the box is gone: no siree.
Since the contents will
Still live on in me.
Sweetness, love,
Compassion, caring,
Light so bright
It can seem glaring.
Hard to live up to,
East to miss,
Without the box,
No hug or kiss.
Twas Rumi who said,
“I am only the house of your beloved,
not the beloved herself,
true love is for the treasure,
not for the coffer that contains it.”