White wisps carried by the wind,
Float uncharted trajectories,
Waiting to be released back
To the ground below––
Where wish-makers continue to blow.

Lessons I’ve learned,
Courage I’ve sought,
Carried to those seeking––
Those grasping to the hope
Of one last wish.

The wisps plant themselves,
Watered by scattered rains,
Waiting to present their petaled ideas
To the generation now––
Who unknowingly crush the yellow heads.

They traipse on without thinking
About the ideas left behind.
Until they sit back to reflect on
Things they never passed on––
Those things—now the wisps in the wind.