In Lamentation Of The Children Of The Wind Poem by Bob and Alex Eichen

I do not envy those who,
Cloud-like, star-bound,
Drift in on silver tides
Over the surface of volcanic rock.

Their brilliance,
The which we tried to emulate,
Will disappear,
Like lights behind the traveler
At journey's end.

You'll ask of their going.

Newspaper-dried and yellow,
Carried off by any passing wind.
In imitation of life...

Like a dead bird's wing
Swaying as the horses ride,
Clinging to a corpse.


(This poem was written by my son, Alexander Eichen)