My Will Poem
Our history is strewn with
brothers killing brothers
over kingdoms
great and small.
Kings and widowed queens
wished they were family still
when they became a will.
Once a person brave and strong
could swing a sword, but still
they became a will.
With judgement strong
they took a pen and
loved you more than them
or left you out in a whim,
when they became a will.
It’s better to die a penny shy
in a home for the poor
than to judge my family
on the way out the door,
for then the rose
left beside the stone
is for me, and me alone.
For my Aunt Ruth…..david michael jackson
