It isn't always a young boy's life skills,
That causes a mother's face to beam.
Nor is it his walk through valleys and hills,
But Heaven whispering to him in a dream.
Oft times dreams emanate with a child,
Leaving others to query God's reason.
And in mom's memory his dream is filed,
For recall, in some beneficial season.
If we take many pictures as we go,
And spend time with family each day.
We catalog memories so others will know,
That indeed we once passed this way.
For it won't be about a birth made fuss,
Or even sights that perhaps we've seen.
But it's all about where death finds us,
And the tracks that we've left in between.
Ecclesiastes 11-3 KJV