"Hearse of weathered black enamel,
Undertakers fingering cigarettes.
Family, some crying, some bored,
Some only thinking of themselves.
Hired marching band out of tune.
Even in death we find no accord."
Sometimes my life is sad to me: 12-hour workdays, tiny living quarters, no children. I do my best to understand and believe that these things are temporary, paving the way to a future I long for. I fill those twelve hours with service; I fill those living quarters with love. I know, even when it all seems so far away, that the children I bring into the world will feel and do both. What greater legacy could there be?
Undertakers fingering cigarettes.
Family, some crying, some bored,
Some only thinking of themselves.
Hired marching band out of tune.
Even in death we find no accord."
Sometimes my life is sad to me: 12-hour workdays, tiny living quarters, no children. I do my best to understand and believe that these things are temporary, paving the way to a future I long for. I fill those twelve hours with service; I fill those living quarters with love. I know, even when it all seems so far away, that the children I bring into the world will feel and do both. What greater legacy could there be?
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