They say I was a miser,
they say that I was cruel
that good things that I could have done
I just chose not to do

My closet’s full of should-haves
that dying will dispose
as old moth-eaten never-gonnas
neglected, rotted so

My soul a’clutter with good deeds
that I let get away
and now I must confront these truths
on this, my dying day.

Turns out I forgive myself.