Autumn Housecleaning Poem by Milton Crum

We’re cleaning house,
but it’s not spring cleaning;
it’s autumn cleaning—
the autumn of our lives.

In our minds, we’ve cleaned out
notions of boundless vigor,
prospects of doing it all,
with endless time to do it.
We’ve admitted a loss
of get-up-and-go.

Out go the trail maps
of hikes anticipated,
but never taken,
of exciting terrain
never explored.

Clear the shelves of books
meant to be read or read again,
when there was time.
But the time never came,
and now we know
that it never will.
Give them to the library;
maybe someone else
will do better.

Dispose of a photography course:
it was never completed,
and, anyway,
digital has made it out of date.


Bundle up the notes
for books unwritten.
Recycle the travel folders
for trips not taken.
Forget the thoughts
of strenuous sports
and adventure cruises.

Wood and hardware
for projects never completed:
bag them for the trash man
to take away.

Give away the patterns
for quilts unmade.
Goodbye bread maker:
store-bought is good enough

The cleaning’s done.

What we did:
we’ll keep the albums
to rejuvenate
our happy but fading memories.

What we’ll do
remains to be seen;
perhaps, the best
is yet to come,
but it can’t be as long
as the years gone by.