Through the echoed halls of time their voices rise,

A gentle call to the future beyond my eyes.

Will my steps honor the dreams they had,

Or will they remain hopes, shadows of the past.

Tales of struggle, courage and heart.

A legacy they entrusted on my part.

Will I be the answer to their age old plea;

Generations upon generations,

Leading up to me.

Every whispered lesson, every story told,

Woven into me for years, threads of gold.

Choices, experiences of the past.

Will their sacrifices drift away at last?

The future calls, its gentle thrall,

Silent knowledge of the worth of each rise and fall.

Path’s uncertain, but bright and vast,

Built on their memories, carefully amassed.

In every word and measured stride,

I try to let their dreams in me abide.

If my legacy reflects what they forecast,

Then their hopes will echo through the present and into the past.

Hard love and labour, let it not be spent in vain,

Rather bloom quietly in me, again and again.

Compelling me as I rise to meet what fate holds fast,

And hope I honour every generation that’s past.