Dust If You Must

Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better
to paint a picture, write a letter, bake a cake, plant a tree—
to ponder gently over what you truly need?

Dust if you must, but there’s not much time,
with rivers to cross and mountains to climb,
music to hear, songs to sing, books to read,
friends to cherish, and a life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world is out there—
with the sun in your eyes and the wind in your hair,
a flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
Remember this day; it will not come again.

Dust if you must, but keep in mind
old age will come, and it won’t be kind.
And when you go—as go you must—
you yourself will become dust.