Monday, July 26, 2004

In a hundred years...

...nobody will know that you or I ever existed.

My grandfather is fading away
like ink on a page left out in the sun,
the once crisp lines of his memory
becoming harder to read every day.
When he finally goes, his pages
in my book will eventually turn white,
and I will unwittingly write something
over them, until he is nothing more
than a name and an image my own
son has written, and after I die,
even that will be gone.

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