MY BLANKET OF POSTERITY
No matter how long I last,
church bells will not ring
when I cross the last barricade.
Moments of happiness
will fade from memory,
destined to leave my footsteps
in the dust of yellow pollen.
My fabric of memory
is torn beyond repair.
A clapper-less bell rings
with resonant vibrations
that only I can hear.
Future descendants
will keep me warm
for a very long time.