Gold Dust
Listen to poem:
Touch is fleeting, never a foot hold.
Warmth succumbs to growing old's cold.
Value lies unfounded, hidden in treasure's chest.
For life's obsession is driven by mementos' quest.
Gold that glitters, when buried, fades decays to dust.
All structure and order is dismembered by entropy's thrust.
Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2023
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