Spider Plant For Ever - I Hope

 When our daughter was born my mother sent to the hospital a little planter of live plants.

The planter was a ceramic baby buggy.

The plants were various.

One of them was a spider plant.

A little bitty spider plant.

All of the other - plants - are gone and long forgotten.

As is the ceramic baby buggy.

But the spider plant lives on.

It lives on in its children's children's, children's, children, et cetera.

Or more; or so, or whatever.

In the intervening years we have moved across the continent and back, and north and south on that continent, and after all those years, that spider plant has travelled with us.

Or its progeny.

Or its progenies various progenies.

(Three of the last four "sentences" and at least one other, above, should cause Sister Justitia to come after me with a fiery sword; but the language moves on, so, also have I, and also the spider plants).

They aren't passed on in our will, but we expect them to continue after their current manifestation on Lopez Island.