This goldenrod sings a story

Of two children, who grew up

Golden whispers lace the wind

Through the wild, blooming fields

Marking where their feet have been

The only paths left to my youth

These lonely paths, my only friend


My fingers powdered with golden flecks

And my hair gilded over in dust

The wind will blow me all away,

Ashes to ashes, iron to rust


This goldenrod marks the place

Where I laid down my childhood

And I guess I couldn’t make you stay

Because children all grow up, someday

Those two children grew up long ago

But I walk through the goldenrod, just the same


My face is covered in shining gold

A mask of gilding, gently brushed

The wind will blow me all away

Strength to weakness, dust to dust


I never want to sing again, as I pick a windswept flower

And this goldenrod will have wilted away

And disappeared, as children do

But for now, it marks where you lay,

It’ll mark forever where you lay


And I leave a stream behind me

Through the goldenrod, bent and hushed

A gentle path of loosened gold

Wind, blow me away with the precious dust

The End

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