Everything born is bound to die.

And though now tears fill our eyes,

surely, too, the soul will fly

  to a flower

  a bird

  a child

  a cloud...

Take comfort to know

there are other planes of chance.

Think and you will remember

that glance - a glimpse of familiarity,

the easy connection with a stranger.

 

And so it is we breathe

the same air our parents did

  and theirs

    and theirs

       and theirs.

Our children do too -

  and will again

    and again

      and again.