One Art

 This art (of how to lose things) can, with ease, be learned;
 To get lost, it seems, for lots of stuff is in its soul
 But loss means no one stole, no one has been spurned.

 Lose a thing each day. Quite soon it will be clear, luck has turned;
 The keys, the hours, with no pain they go down a black hole.
 Skill in this art is no more than a goal which can be learned.

 Then try to lose more, lose things fast, this speed has been earned;
 The wheres, and whos, and hows, and why one took a stroll.
 As each loss breaks like a wave on a roll, do not feel spurned.

 Yes, I lost my mom's watch. And look here! it burned -
 the house I loved most, last of three loved homes, now coal.
 Skill in this art is no more than a goal which I have learned.

 I lost two towns, streets and all, for which I have since yearned.
 Some realms I owned, the Nile, the Alps - it takes its toll -
 I miss them, but this is my role, no point to think I'm spurned.

 ---And at last, the loss of you (the smile when you turned
 your head, your voice, the jokes), well, no lies. My goal?
 It's clear this art is one I have well learned
 though it may look like (Write it!) like I am spurned.

                                -- Liz More-Than-A-Priest
                                   (done by Ol Will's Son)