Part of your wisdom portfolio
(Loosely a long sonnet of thirty-four lines in iambic pentameter. To read aloud, as always.)
Couldn’t Care Less
I was a surly baby, which is par.
My parents told of a happy childhood,
Blithe nonchalance was my youth’s lodestar,
Until care crept in and settled for good.
For many years, I didn’t care about care,
In its infancy, it ensured I grew.
With learning and thinking, care got more flair,
In many things, it began showing through.
I saw care’s many forms and effects,
Sculptor of self, others, our world and work,
I noticed what the eye often neglects,
Care made me act more than complain and smirk.
I craved knowledge, perfect work was a must,
Looked after myself, my things and my space.
My friends and family always came first,
Care gave more joy than any other grace.
Caring felt good and care was good for me,
Yet I found life wasn’t all hunky dory;
Even well-meant actions oft did poorly,
Could caring itself make life more rocky?
Concern’s hot flame often burnt me and mine,
Manic panaceas can risk peace and joy.
My thoughts and the world’s can’t always align.
Angry caring, its goodness does destroy.
And behold, it’s not just good people that care,
We have Hitler and Stalin’s company!
Why, common bigots and extremists dare
Claim they, too, care; it’s a sad irony.
True care is vulnerable empathy;
Without a motive shallow or crazy,
I know you only want a better me.
Someone gentler, wiser, I hope you’ll see.
I’ll never stop caring; it’s just not me,
To care well is life’s best quality.
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