The Ultimate Measure

Once upon a day quite weary
A so-called friend I politely queried.
"How is it that your life's so grand
All organized and neat and planned?"

She smiled at me and said "what luck;
I suppose that Martha stuff just stuck."
I looked at her all clean and trim
Each hair in place, her clothes so prim.

I sighed and wished I could be her,
And in that moment did occur
A most amazing, strange weird thing;
My world went black, my ears did ring.

When things calmed down and I could see,
A mirror showed a whole new me!
My hair was perfect, straight and blond,
My clothes were like a model donned.

My so-called friend grinned ear to ear,
"Well, that's much better now my dear!
I truly think I must confess,
I use to think you quite a mess."

And in that moment all came clear,
The things that truly should be dear.
Not your hair and how you dress,
But how you live and handle stress.

"No thanks" I said, "I'll take my mess,
The jam stains that were on my dress?
Came when my son did hug me long,
He wanted me to sing a song."

"My hair is frazzled instead of prim?
Because I took time to read to him.
My house may be dirty and dishes undone,
But there's no doubt how much I am loved by my son."

Then I closed my eyes and wished to be,
The same old happy, frumpy me.
Let Martha be perfect, all things in their place,
I'd rather walk around with a smile on my face.

For what difference does perfect make in this short life,
If aspiring to that gives us nothing but strife.
Be kind and good hearted, will a child smile at you?
That's the ultimate measure of all that you do.