Golden Threads

There is nothing new

For all things are old

Ultimately all

Will turn to gold

For the dust that falls

Down from open skies

All is revealed

As immortal lies

But what of this gold?

What does it consist?

Only ever

Ethereal mist

But with its weave

And distinctive weft

It is best

Forever left

Lest it unravel

Before our eyes

All that remains

Are eternal skies