Description

The Sun is Burning Gases (Loss of a Good Friend)

Cathleen McFarland

I was young when
17 was a number
Too high to count
The sun was the miracle
Spinning sorcerer
That melted my crayons
into bright wax rivers.
A golden-skinned princess lived there
Nightly in my mind,
When stars and moon
were marginal connect-the-dots,
different everytime –
Beyond the realms of man.

Now I’m 17
And even infinity is
A place I can define.
Man has touched the moon –
Now stretching to the stars.
I know the sun is burning gases
My princess long since turned to ashes.