A Song of Wasted Things

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Let me sing you a song of wasted things,

All the sweet, beautiful wasted things.

All the peach stones that never grew trees,

Nights of longing to decades turned,

Jephthah’s daughter a virgin burned,

And forest flowers that nobody sees,

Dropping their leaves for a thousand springs.

There are no truly wasted things,

Counted by proper reckoning.

Just as the world is a water jar,

Recycling drops from heaven to ground,

So every sweet wasted thing is found

Somewhere again in a reservoir

And used again in some heart that sings.