Our bones will be in museums one day,
your heart won’t always beat with rhythm.
Our stalls will house beautiful florals,
our hair will be used for a fledgling’s home.
Your skills won’t matter, just your wings.
Your skin will age with tree rings.
Your soul won’t age a day.
We can’t have everything with us,
but the ones we’ve touched.
the ones we’ve changed.
Our memories, our emotions,
our story that
words can’t convey-
that is something…
it won’t cease to be-
you’ll live forever there.