A Prayer for Descendants
My name is not a whisper in your ancestors’ ears,
so long gone,
a gossamer memory tattered by millenia.
And yet,
and yet…
When breezes lie soft on cheeks and hair,
and rains gentle across your lands;
when rabbits play tag nearby,
and hope lines the pockets in your soul;
when drink on tongue quenches deep thirst,
and laughter percolates crevices in your home,
know this, dear one,
It was me,
kissing love into the stars,
to sift thru dark skies,
and weave in dreams that bespatter your days.
~Boneweaver ©️2022