UPDATE: I’ve now included the entire poem on the post here, for all to enjoy.
by J. Randal Matheny
For forty years she saved it all:
The daily paper, bottles, trash,
Assorted scraps in lordless sprawl;
To her a priceless private cache.
She filled her house, the queen of junk,
Her pleasure not to use, but own,
The miser’s mania, on hoarding, drunk,
Compulsion to have, averse to loan.
Her kin are those who accumulate
Small treasures on this perishing earth;
They share her avaricious trait,
And do not know the soul’s true worth.
The empty hand from God receives
The precious wealth we cannot touch;
His blessings shared are weighty sheaves;
The treasures we lose are those we clutch.
We may be more like her than we know. The next three stanzas describe her a bit further and then make a parallel to those who hoard treasures on earth rather than in heaven. The poem purposely echoes Matthew 6:19-20.
The email list was deleted. Most poetry is now posted here for all to read. Another reason to sign up.