Who will carry my torch onwards when I am gone?
And take the marks I’ve made in life and move them on
To read the words I wrote with care and pondered over long
To nurse my tiny flame of existence, that faintly shone
Who carries a torch for the souls who are long forgotten?
The millions of faded faces on a myriad of paths trodden
To remember their passions, loves and lessons that life had begotten
To cherish their drops of wisdom, and to pass on their batons
There can be no conceit in needing your stamp on life embossed
For to hide your light under a bushel is to depart at a sad cost
When the humble gems of stories and sweet memories get forever lost
And ideas, revelations, thoughts and conclusions are all turned to dust