A poem about what we leave behind and what lasts forever
More a citizen of Heaven
Than of this worldly sphere,
I still yearn for some evidence
That I was really here.
Not just a headstone at my grave,
Or faded memory,
But something printed, black and white,
For history to see.
Not with pomp, or press, or fanfare,
And without wealth and fame,
Just a simple, little footnote:
A few words and my name.
But I find solace in the truth;
I was not made for Earth.
I am a daughter of the King,
And therein lies my worth.