What we acquire and are meant to pass on can always be something that resides within the heart and not a part of worldly things.
It isn’t a shiny gem or Something fancy to hold
It’s to hear, to delect- a tale so old
How many greats to be added, No one really knows
A little above twelve or thirteen, Might give a guess so.
Said to have fought the storms
And many troubled skies
He might Have changed his worldly forms
With each great grand, who dies.
A fearless soul, a kind heart – A spirit that strangely recurs
With each passing generation, a new but similar tale to stir.
A family heirloom that for once is nothing to hold
A kindred spirit, A brave soul that comes for, stories retold.
They say I’m next, the next one in line
To live a life to behold
And pass on my tales, my feats
My spirit, my soul and the not the gold we hold.