I have lived a life, I suppose.

I have seen suns rise and set,
Felt the sting of wind, the warmth of a hand.
And now, I think of what remains.
Not the gold I saved, nor the house I built,
But the ripples left behind.
The kindness shown, the lessons taught,
The laughter echoed in empty rooms.
A garden tended, a book well-read,
A seed planted for another’s hand to find.
These are the threads, invisible yet strong,
That weave through generations,
A quiet hum, a whispered name,
A legacy of simply being,
And then, of having been.