As My Children....

i watched the old woman die,
and listened to her last breaths...
and all i could see was a small child,
offering me the feather of a sparrow.
i walked down to the creek and listened,
and heard the voices of a thousand years.
none were near, yet none were far,
i could feel them press against my skin.
do we come and go,
or is that just an illusion?
i think we just are,
yet we are not we....
by the way i named each of her breaths,
and raised them as my children!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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