The Move

My son threw out his dishes;
No longer does he need them.
He also tossed away old books;
He has no time to read them.

He has no room so it makes sense,
But I can’t understand it.
It’s just the way that things worked out;
It isn’t like he planned it.

What I don’t get is why discard
An object that’s not broken?
The memories that it contains
Might still remain, unspoken.

And if you really have no need
For things you are replacing,
Pass them on to someone else
Whose life they can be gracing.

I took the dishes and the mugs,
The forks, the spoons, the knives;
I’ll donate them so they’ll be used
In other people’s lives.

Perhaps my sentimental streak
Is really out of whack;
My son just moved and I’m the one
With dishes to unpack!