When I was young
I dressed in bright yellows
As if to spread the very sun
all over my home; the meadows

But now I am old
All clad in silver-grey
Gathering my seeds in turn
To help them take root, as they may.

A breeze must come to break me
And old must yield before new life
Like Dandelion seeds, come take me
It is how it is; no cause for any strife
end_time_beauty