I had merely begun to sip my tea so cold,
How very egregious to hear a knock at my door,
Upon my doormat stood a woman quite sad,
Excuse me, sir, I seem to have lost my bag.
Well, what does it look like I asked as I sighed,
It doesn’t matter does it,
It only matters what’s inside.
Oh, beg your pardon miss at my door.
All the time I wonder of its weight in gold.
So what does it contain miss stranger on my mat?
Oh, I don’t know she answered.
It could be something or anything perhaps,
It could be a tiger or a cat in my bag.
It could be something from a previous life that I had.
I am embarrassed and a little fearful to admit,
But I only remember how it felt when I had it in my midst.
Well, how did it feel as I welcomed her inside,
“Let me tell you she spoke” and this time with pride.
It felt as if I was quite and completely set apart from the rest.
I thought no one else would have what I in this bag possessed.
Where were you headed with this bag filled with what you say?
It isn’t that time of the year to travel,
What are you really up to,
Especially on this gloomy a day.
Oh, silly man, she answered with a smile,
I do not find what I lost for my journey ahead,
Oh, I wish for you to see what I’ve seen all along,
It’s painfully obvious if you put in a thought,
The point is not to reach a place somewhere.
And I give this advice without any cost,
The journey is really about the things that we’ve lost.