An old withered lady,
Lying solemnly on her deathbed,
Counted her shallow breaths,
That faded with every expiration.
Her shrivelled ears,
Were attuned to words of disrepute,
Of verbal filth and guttural utters,
Though fortuitous enough,
To catch and desperately latch onto syllables,
Of pretended love for her,
Of actual love for her fortunes.
But now, they picked up,
Strains of an explosive scuffle,
Brewing into a full-blown debate,
Of how her tangible opulence,
Shall be apportioned.
Two sons and two daughters,
Fed with unqualified love,
Now fought over her moribund frame,
Fed with unqualified avarice.
Here she was,
As yet undead and listening,
To complaints and blinding fear,
Of the intestate abandonment of her living.
With the last of the curses,
Still echoing in her ears,
She closed her weary eyes,
And had the silent last laugh.
She counted her last breath,
And let peace surround her,
As she watched from an ethereal sphere,
Her attorney read out her will,
To the surprised audience.
“All her wealth is to go,
Every penny of her fortune,
To the Home for the Aged,
Without any reservation.”
Her eldest daughter,
High-strung and bitter,
“What has mother left for us, her own children?”
A wise and respected man,
Produced a yellowed sheet of paper,
And mouthed its words reticently.
“These are the words,
Of your mother,
Hear them carefully,
For this is all she has for you.
Inheritance is a beautiful word,
Often misunderstood as bequeathal,
Of material property and prosperity,
However, a love so primaeval,
Like mine for you,
Like any other mothers’,
Seeks to help you help yourself.
I strongly believe,
That my thinking,
Rather than my calculable belongings,
Would help you become as successful,
I am extremely thankful to biology.
I can only pray,
For a swansong happier than mine,
For your lives,
For it would bleed my soul,
To see you unloved, like mine.”
Written for daily prompt: Inheritance