It makes me sad to think that after all this bluster
This whole-hearted muster
The passion and fire
The burning desire
A little girl or boy one day will say:
‘Who was she?’
Even though their blood will be linked down lines
Though their eyes may hold the same dark gaze
They won’t be amazed .
They may not even ask or mention
I might not get any attention.
I’ll be just bone and worm.
It’s ok , It’s ok, you can squirm.
I’m uncomfortable too.
After all the arcs and waves of life
After all the hope, the strife.
What is left?
Who indeed was she?
If they can’t answer. Neither can I.
I am after all …. just me.