Generations Poem by James Mills

You, probably, will never pad into my room,
to stand, heart-still, listening for breath,
or search my dream-gone face.


Amidst your worldly goods I stand,
imbibing of you both,
three adrift on seas of wonder.
And grateful I am, and pray
that down the days, I may, through you,
repay the kindnesses and courtesies,
that, forming me, formed you.


So not to me is owed
what you may both achieve.
For in boyish slumber
my breath rose as an answered prayer
to those who watched over me,
as now I watch over you.