By JH Sayyar
O golden age of flame and fleeting fire,
When all worlds lie open to the bold,
The heart is light, the soul is pure desire,
Dreams are cast in shapes too bright to hold.
The dawn is ours, untainted by regret,
Each step a song, each hour a rushing stream,
We chase the stars, the moon has not touched yet,
And build our lives upon a laughing dream.
But swift the seasons turn, as seasons must,
And roses fade beneath the noonday sun;
Yet youth leaves echoes, dancing in the dust,
Its fire still glowing when the race is run
So hold it close, this gift of breath and flame—
Though fleeting, youth is never quite the same.
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