They are as precious as the lights,
burning brightly in the night,
and more valuable by far
because they shine
for a much shorter time.

See them laughing as they play,
see them swimming in a pond,
see them growing and changing
every single day,
till their flame just flickers out.

All ash blowing in the wind,
fantastic flesh beings
that will not return again,
but once they were children
growing up to be women
and silly old, befuddled men.

See them dancing, and spinning
clutching those they love,
see compassion’s beginning
and gentle heart’s farewell.

Just as soon as they arrive
it is time to say goodbye,
less than a second in
space and time.

See them celebrate and mourn,
see them elevate above the norm,
see them struggle to be better
and falling short more often
than they succeed.
  
I will write them a lullaby,
I will hum it as I cry.
See me weeping, eyes stinging,
until it is my corpse they are bringing.

I hope someone writes a poem for me.