If tomorrow I were to bid farewell
To life, of what wispy song would the lips
Of history sing of me? Of what song?
Will I be the shadow night loathes to cast?
Will I be the truth unworthy of praise?
Will I be the fetid stench flies abhor?
Will I be a paragon to others?
Will I be the lush flame fame quenches not?
Will I be the chief keystone of a home?
Each night, I hum the hymns I have written
In despair while I dream of what I’d be
If tomorrow I were to bid farewell.
©TurksonQuills
TurksonQuills 