To Really Be Blithe

Grandmother: You do need school,

But not for long. 10, 15

Years? That will suffice,

Until you can read and count and write

And think for yourself! 

Most important of all,

You follow your heart;

Not the thumping mass of flesh,

But the metaphorical soul,

The type which without, humanity 

Would have died by now.

Next step? See the pain;

The suffering, the crying,

Those who have to beg just for one

Simple meal.

Forget your art as a leisure,

Your geography as an interest,

Use it to end the cries of pain

Because despite what you think,

We are connected.

Don't lie to yourself,

Once you've seen all the...mess,

There's no forgetting it.

Sure, it's easy to shut off, but what would that do?!

Prefer sitting nicely in front of a TV,

Sipping a stew?!

Don't want to ditch your comfortable couch?

Ahh, diddums. 

Well man up! Woman up! 

The phrase doesn't matter.

You might as well forgive your parents now

And start cleaning up their mess,

They won't be around much longer to do it themselves!

The sooner we put down our puzzle magazines,

And help others finish theirs,

We can enjoy: Bliss,

(the) Love (we don't control),

(the) Imagination (that sets us apart),

(the) Teeth (that we smile with),

(the) Home (that defines us),

(the) Eccentricity (that makes us so perfectly imperfect),

Your soul will be free

And you will be blithe..

Granddaughter: Yeah yeah, Nan, can I go to bed now?

The End

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