Descendants Poem by poete vulgaire

Dying is not the issue.
It's the legacy that I will leave behind.
My dreams,
that's my fortune.
And I can assure you, I am a wealthy dreamer.
So, I wonder...
am I going to have my dreams in my deathbed,
children out of nowhere
and everywhere,
are they going to have lips to kiss me,
ears to hear me,
eyes to cry,
hearts to remember me,
arms to carry me?
Or they are going to be just air,
something
to breath
for the last time?