"You can't go home again"

I had bad dreams last night, dreams that I actually can remember. I dreamed of the place my father retired to and then sold a few years before he died. He had taken such good care of the place and the people he sold it to treated it much more casually. In my dream I had walked to the store in North Creek and the owners didn't remember my dad. His old place was run down as it was when he bought it.
After I woke up, I thought of the places where I've lived and of how I thought they would stay unchanged. After all the effort we put into a home, it's dust and ashes after a few decades. What lasts? I have my grandmother's silver spoon collection. Absolutely nobody in my family has a desire for these spoons. I have a website that I have been tending and growing for a little over a decade. Someday that internet "property" will be completely ignored.

More and more I think poetry is the legacy that lasts.