Beautiful poem.

We have to try. In that there is no great or small. Think about (it could happen) our sun going through some massive shift and obliterating this planet. Nothing done here in the short span of 200,000 or so years of modern humans would be intrinsically more or less significant. I choose, my personal fiction, to believe that sort of like the gift giving cliche (“it’s the thought that counts”) that there is meaning at the psyche level in ways I don’t understand. If that turns out not to be true I will not be disappointed — I would rather live my life that way anyway.

You count. I count. We all do.