What Will They Say

What will they say of me when I am gone? An eccentric fool lost in his yesterdays? A lonely soul locked away in the ancient house He saved from destruction? Will someone scavenger through the wastes of my life The photographs, notes, writings, drawings . . . . And find some shred of humanity there? What will they say of me when I am gone? Will our letters be found and read again? Perhaps some young girl, wide-eyed in awe Discovering that people really can love Past the limits of their endurance Will someone finger your locket And wind up your music box To watch the ballerinas turn and sway To a melody that once had meaning? Will they wonder about the little things? Two train tickets from Munich to Milan Blossoms pressed between pages of a Gibran book A napkin where you blotted your lipstick And I saved it because it imprinted you indelibly Will they assign it all to the trash or fire? And if the smoke of us rises past the stars Will you gather it up and hold it dear and remember?