Imagining My Legacy Poem by Richard Randolph

Perhaps after I'm dead my wife will try to spread my ashes on the waves,
but the wind will come up unexpectedly and scatter them instead.
Everyone will think this an unfortunate accident, but it'll really be fate.
They'll go on with their lives, thinking that was the end of me,
but some of my ashes will find their way under a magic tree,
and it'll use them to make a beautiful, mysterious golden fruit.
Then, years later, my daughter, or maybe a granddaughter,
will see one of these fruits and, unable to resist, she'll taste it,
though she'll have been warned that it's worthless or bad.
When she tastes it, though, it'll be like water in a desert,
or a solid truth in a world of shifting lies; it'll rejuvenate her,
give her hope when she'd had none before.
Suddenly she'll recognize the differences between
real and feigned love, true modesty and manipulation,
and this awareness will make her start thinking about
how to make others aware of such differences.
She'll understand that saying a thing is not enough.
You have to embody it, and that always entails
both critical self-awareness and sacrifice.
No doubt she'll feel a bit overwhelmed at first,
but the knowledge of our lives and experiences,
encapsulated within my ashes and transported by the fruit,
will reassure her that she's not alone,
that we're each but a single link in a giant chain
carrying the true message forward through time,
and though the task often feels hopeless,
and the individual links feel desperate and alone,
destiny will ensure we prevail in the end.
That's my dream, and though I'm sure it seems farfetched,
I believe it might happen, albeit in a slightly different form,
and then I'll have come to a very good end indeed.