“What goes?”
I suppose, when it comes down to it, everything goes, that is to say, all things must pass. In the meantime, life is to be lived.
So: Grow the food, play with the dog, write the poems, sing the songs with gusto, live while life is here. Life is to be savored and experienced firsthand and, well, lived. See what you can see, do what you can do, and in the seeing and doing, find what life is.
Life is not lived sitting in a room waiting for it. Sitting can be fine, however — I am sitting now, aren’t I, basking in the company of a young dog who is by the open window attending the birdsong on the other side of the screen. I am sending words across the page for little other reason than to feel what music I may offer.
(Do they remember music, those hard-hearted stones who ponder our fates as if our fates were theirs to ponder?) (Oh, let’s not ferret down that rabbit hole today; the so-called rulers of this world cannot control or touch as much or as many as they believe.)
There is a rhyme and a reason for everything. The rhyme is an echo of words spoken or actions taken before, reshaped in this new incarnation. The reason is a mystery to be solved before it can be understood.