When I am old, and withering,
I’ll tell my posterity true.
A story that will follow my path,
as a person- should I go.

A story that begins with you,
Lost, before you’re gone.
To all of us who sit and wait.
Desperately-- for you to return.

You have not left, you’re not yet gone,
But we wait nevertheless.
For, we see you, pass you, please you.
        And that’s all you’ll ever need.

       You only see him, love him, please him.
No time is left for us.
Who sit around and wait for you.
Missed before you’re gone.

So please, when I am old, and withering
        let me give an end,
       that leaves my posterity quiet, appeased,
       When my story comes to term.

       Come for those who wait for you,
       See us, when you can.
      Come and meet us, love us, please us,
      Miss us, when you’re gone.