City of azaleas and death
Of funerals and tears
I cannot raise my children here
Whether I love it or not

My elders have passed 
My ancestors are gone
They’ve left for a private party
That I cannot attend

At least not for a long time
I’ve got yards
And yards more to weave here
The work is unfinished

This is how it happens
One generation passes 
The new generation is yet to come 
But me, I carry home in my bones

It’s happened before in my lifetime
Those epochs and ages
Passing chemically from cell to cell 
Providing the paper

Upon which our life-books are written