Immortality
The poet dies, but does not die
if he has left a line
black inked upon enduring page
or lingered on the mind.
With no thought than to see it grow,
the gardener plants a tree,
his immortality assured,
by shade for posterity.
A way to prove that we were here,
a child in whom, our truths appear.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2016
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