I read of a man who stood to speak At the funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on her tombstone From the beginning to the end. He noted that first came the date of her birth And spoke of the following date with tears, But he said what mattered most of all Was the dash between those years. For that dash represents all the time That she spent alive on earth And now only those who loved her Know what that little line is worth. For it matters not, how much we own, The cars, the house, the cash, What matters is how we live and love And how we spend our dash.