Visions
Nothing gold can stay,
What first is gold turns blue and grey.
With a beauty seldom seen,
The mists at sunrise are shimmering.
Rare exotic colours blossom forth,
As we rise and greet the dawn,
The landscape illuminated,
Which once was pale and forlorn.
Amazed, we stand transfixed,
At the visions unfolding before our eyes,
Unwilling to leave the beautiful scenes
Of riotous colours in the skies.
But slowly the colours fade to blue and grey,
The visions we’ve seen just drift away,
And we are left wondering
Just what our day will bring.
© Rosalie Miller 1996
