A friend of mine sent me an email with the above subject line and the following poem.
When the worst thing happens,
That uproots the future,
That you must live for every hour of your future,
Unorganised, inarticulate, unprofessional;
They come sheepishly, sit with you, holding hands,
From tea to tea, from Anadin to Valium,
Sleeping on put-you-ups, answering the phone,
Coming in shifts, spontaneously,
About wallflowers, and fishing, and why
Dealing with Kleenex and kettles,
Doing the washing up and the shopping,
Like civilians in a shelter, under bombardment,
Holding hands and sitting it out
Through the immortality of all the seconds,
Until the blunting of time,
U A Fanthorpe (1995) Safe as houses.
Calstock: Peterloo Poets
I had to share it. It seemed such an amazing description of people creating "Wellth".