Throughout our lives during good times and tough,
all of us unceasingly accumulate stuff.

Some of it old and some of it new,
it always seems that our stuff is numbered too few.

A number of pieces may have found old ages yellow,
and our stuff may include a right jolly old fellow.

Our valuable stuff is kept usually pristine,
other stuff packed away and seldom is seen.

Some stuff is ugly, others true art,
perhaps a few items are missing a part.

My stuff is usually kept in a chaotic mess,
it’s the stuff gifted from kids that I find priceless.

When I’ve moved on, my body trapped in death’s bind,
I hope it much greater than just stuff that I’ve left behind.