To which image should we cling?

Trailing clouds of glory do we come The magical moments of childhood When we felt at one with the universe Spinning dizzily with delight Or with more of horrible and awful That even to name is sorrowful Bound helplessly with flu in bed Unable from the pillow to raise my head And wishing the world would just go away Paralysed by the loss of power to move Maybe it is not so much The image to which we should cling Rather that the images should cling To us Providing our distinct identities The yardstick of our recollections The holding of our first born close Those bedtime stories where The kids cling on to every word Just before into euphoric sleep they drift When we slip softly from the room Switching off the bedroom light With their minds now deep in dreams bright Choosing one image is far beyond me I much prefer the whole of the family tree.