The Dash

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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 the 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 your life's actions to rehash.

Would you be proud of the things they say

About how you spent your dash?

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