In three generations, I'll fade like the mist,
Six feet under, in shadows, I'll exist,
My life's tapestry, a threadbare shroud,
Unraveling slowly, like a tattered cloud.

When I depart, my children may grieve,
But their tears, like rain, on a silent eve,
Will be absorbed by the soil of time, As my memory, like footprints, fades from their climb.

Their children's recollections, like petals on a stream,
Drift away in the current, a fleeting dream,
I'll become a whisper, a ghostly wail, Lost in the vast, dark ocean of the tale.

And when their children's children can't recall,
I'll be a distant star, barely seen at all,
A galaxy of moments, a universe of pain, Lost to the cosmos, like...