<BGSOUND src="//www.oocities.org/ridakm/81inthegar.mid" LOOP=INFINITE>
                                                The Dash

                          
  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 her date of birth
    And spoke the following date with tears,
     But he said what mattered most of all
      Was the dash between those years
                                   (1930--2001)
                        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,
                               That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
   To consider what’s true and real,
    And always try to understand
     the way 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?
                                                          By Linda Ellis
HOME