Colin F. Jones

VALUE

I know not for what purpose I was born,
Nor if there was purpose in my birth.
So like a single seed of corn
By sheer chance I claim some worth.
What worth was the round that missed,
With that which struck its mark?
Was it the cheek that went un-kissed
Or the one murdered in the dark?
What is death and what is pain?
Where do our values lie?
In succeeding with a famous name,
Or in the coffin when we die?
Our value is the emotional of cost
To our loved ones when they cry.