Something Old, Something New

I write a lot of poems, and yesterday while sipping a beer in my back yard and reading Rebecca West's massive and brilliant Black Lamb and Grey Falcon, I jotted this down in the back of the book. It's born from reflection from a philosophical question I posed when rather young, and the response I got from a family friend who has a PhD. in philosophy.

“When does a new thing

Become an old thing?”

The child Will inquired.

He laughed aloud and shook his head

And this was his reply:

“Words, Will, are at the heart of this.

For instance, let me pose to you

A question of like-make:

Imagine a great heap of toys,

Then pluck those toys one at a time,

And as the heap grows small,

When will your heap of toys

Become a pile of toys?”           

I was not more than five or six,

And could not picture this,

But now I know the trick.

A thing that’s new

Is rendered old

The morning we awake

And take it as our due.

You are unworthy of her love,

Driving is not a right,

Your health is going to wilt,

Blue skies will signal drought.

So don’t waste time

In thought of heaps or piles

But see again your world

as an undeserved gift,

and find it always new.