That blade of grass there

the one with brown edges now,

is the journeywork of a fading star,

our cooling sun’s the one.

Really in the darkening hours

it does not matter much

that grass comes up green,

then slowly loses brilliance,

will now be tinged like that with brown,

turning yellow and dry in its time,

finally giving way its place to dust,

for in the gathering darkness overall,

all colors change anyway, disappear

in black and white and grays,

all mute their warmth as life with age.

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