There isn’t much I want or need
In terms of concrete things,
For any purchase, guaranteed
Comes weighted down with strings.
Since through the years, the stuff I buy
Accumulates until
There’s no more room, although I’ll try
To more than take my fill.
Without the wall space, I can’t hang
Some art that does attract.
Another pair of earrings? Dang!
I’ve plenty; that’s a fact.
My closet’s full of clothes and shoes,
Yet new ones catch my eye.
By giving in, what’s there to lose?
Yet if I get them - why?
My older self pulls in the reins;
I don’t need more new stuff
Because, by now, I have the brains
To know I have enough.
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