When we first breathe and start to peer,
What we will be is still unclear.
A book of pages still unturned
Is what we are when we appear.
Whether assigned, purloined, or earned,
And when a standing time has burned,
The name revealed on every page
Will be critiqued, adored, or spurned.
We hope that when we leave the stage,
By early death or withered age,
The reputation left behind
Is one of kindness, not of rage.