Gold

By Madison Brown

I stare at golden treetops as the sun sinks slowly.

Trees are strengthened by the decades they’ve lived.

It makes me feel so young, so small.

Like Wendy with borrowed fairy dust, I would collect that sprinkled sun in a jar.

But little girls are bestowed the burden of growing up.

… “Nothing gold can stay.”

My innocence was a camera flash, a blip turned foul like Midas’s curse.

Still, everything I’ve ever loved is sunkissed with that golden glow.

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