Nineteen to the dozen

  I often reflect on, The day I'll be gone. Will I be atleast a tear, To the ones I held dear, Will I remain a memory In their pages of history, One that brings a smile, As they walk a dreary mile, Did I make a difference? That would brighten their day Or will I be locked in a closet, To be kept far away . Will I remain a mystery? Intriguing enough for a story, Or just a random cloud, That passed by one day. What is it that I yearn, While I watch myself burn, A memory, a story, an ire, A joy, a sorrow or desire. What would I be? Oh, what would I be!