Fumbles of a broken poet
When my dirge is sung and carried on night's mercy, love and affection of those I cherish, shall be the only thing I miss. Time is the illusion of my life and it slips through my fingers like the mercury of old. My dreams are of my legacy in future arms yet beheld. My prosperity is minor but vast because of each kiss from my children is as if a bit of gold. I hope someday some will look through the various windows I have created and see the world I see. I hope peace finds my loved ones hearts as I smile with each wobble and cry with each new precious gift. Elegance though beautiful, and diamond indeed desired are worthless when compared to you my loves. I hope it is said he loved harder than anyone could.