Golden

Golden The sun has turned white. When I was little it was yellow, and orange. I miss the color it once was. I know that it is gone, but I still remember. My life has been long, and short. Time moves too fast, and too slow. It is never what I want, or need it to be. My body is slower, but my mind is calmer. Youth, always in a hurry, but not really listening very clearly. It is later that we stop, and hear... birds sing, in cement cities. It is later that we try, to listen to the song of grace, that has been there... all along. Yet we should dance as children, to the music, the cycle of seasons. The Savior, the King... the real "life" of everything. by A. Foster, Ann Foster, Annette Foster