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Poem

Some say I'm soulful,
Others the Devils tool,
One minute I might find you doleful,
The other acting quite the fool.

Yet that's patently unfair,
One aspect that I can't abide,
For I'm as pure as the morning air,
A child of the gentle ocean tide.

You may not think I live, but live I do,
Spawned in my cocoon of flames,
I thrive, but then die too,
Often amongst angst and conflicting claims.

My pedigree is strong,
Admired and always wanted,
With me you simply can't go wrong,
At times even something to be flaunted.

Your forebears held me close,
I'm privy to their secrets,
Through me their lifeline flows,
Despite them lying with the crickets.

I'm a chameleon, color is my muse,
I change according to my company,
Treat me well, never abuse,
For at my core a fragile symphony.

Where I came from no one knows,
But the world is my own oyster,
Having neither friends nor foes,
Life itself is what I foster.

Now you ask, who can I be
Someone quite so clearly needed,
Look around and you might see,
Generations that preceded.

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