STUFF AND THINGS

My stuff ain’t stuff, I call them things.

I like the way that phrase rings.

Of course, other people’s things are stuff,

They never seem to have enough.

The stuff, I mean, things I collect

Are valuable and most select

Like that daisy lard can I found,

Left thoughtlessly upon the ground.

I might use it to store bolts

Or as a scoop for horses oats.

A flower pot of sparse design

Or for mixing Mojo wine.

I could spread the winter salt

     to save an injury

Or poach an ostrich egg sometime

     to see how big it be.

I could hold it up to the moon

     and gaze at creation

Or pile it full of pennies

to mess up inflation.

So you see, that can my friend

     holds possibilities

That only one who collects things

     can ever truly see.

But as you say, “Its just a can.”

     and I know that you are right

For stuff is only things to those

     that have that inner sight.

~Robert E Browne~