It has to be; one day, perhaps,
we’ll know the wisdom absolute of this;
and yet, and yet... I’m just a little sad,
not to meet my self in previous embodiment
and say, thanks for the baton that you passed
in this relay race of self to self
through millions of forms of life, they say;
you played your part; worked through your destiny,
gave cradle-gifts; withheld some too,
to test me further on the path of life;
I hope you’ll look upon me as your godly son;
smile; say, yes, he’s made good use of life..
And I’m a little sad, as well,
not to meet my self in next embodiment;
and say, here’s wishing you the very best;
sorry, that I could not give you more…
but this; and this; I hope you find these good,
and helpful; happy; take this love, this joy,
this hope, this trust; this baton’s made of gold;
grasp it firmly; run a goodly race;
we’ll watch you proudly from the stands;
smile; say, he’s trained well for this life..
And now, this said, it matters, and it matters not;
as present melds into eternity.
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-past-and-future-self/
