The Inheritance

In the quiet folds of time, a whisper dwells,
A tapestry of stories, where each thread compels.
From ancestors forgotten, their laughter lingers,
In the echoes of our hearts, their warmth still fingers.

A weathered trunk in the attic waits,
Filled with dusty letters and faded plates.
Each artifact a portal, to moments long past,
Binding generations, a spell that holds fast.

The silver locket glints with tales untold,
Of love that conquered, of courage bold.
Within its clasp, a portrait of grace,
A testament to resilience, a family's embrace.

The scent of spices in grandmother's stew,
Whispers of comfort, of love that was true.
Recipes handed down, like secrets divine,
Each ingredient a memory, a story enshrined.

Through the pages of a well-worn book,
The laughter of children, the dreams that we took.
With each word we read, we stitch our own seams,
We inherit their struggles, their hopes, and their dreams.

Yet inheritance is not just what we own,
It's the strength that we've borrowed, the seeds we have sown.
It's the love we extend, the wisdom we share,
The legacy of kindness, a world built with care.

So let us honor the past as we rise,
With gratitude glowing in our open eyes.
For in the inheritance of heartbeats and breath,
Lives the spirit of those who have conquered death.