Not a legacy of ashes, dust on the wind
Blackened remains on a metal sheet
Sprinkled on the water, children’s tears
Compost slowly, patience with grandpa
Consumed by earth, of fertile ground
Oak tree saplings, roots tangled deep
Let time pass, birds nest, squirrels play
Stretch wide, leaf burst cooling shade
Thick trunk fattens, generations forget
You know that tree there, and who it is?
Who? That old tree isn’t a who, its a tree?
That old tree was, my grandpa told me.
I’m on Facebook, there I’ll be able to communicate with people more directly, and also have more writing updates, beyond daily musings and light bits of poetry.
![](https://adamfenner.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/mario-mesaglio-knbhxjzqirs-unsplash.jpg?w=1024)
Photo by Mario Mesaglio on Unsplash
Someone observed that we tend to think of legacies as the preserve of the elite. I suppose that may be why I’ve not thought about ‘my legacy’. I’m glad you’ve put a different frame around it, Adam.
Thanks
DD
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I’m glad I could reframe it. We all leave something behind intentionally or otherwise.
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great poem
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A beautiful legacy, slowly grown and enduring. I think I want to be buried with a tree.
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There is something appealing about it.
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A beautiful poem, and a beautiful idea.
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Thank you Iris.
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