I have died a thousand times, yet lived a million more
Swept in the natural flow of whispers through the night,
Evolving ever so slightly through the passage of time.
The mind’s colorful fruit slowly fixing my frayed fibers.

I am immortal, yet nevertheless dynamic, but still unchanging.
I may fall with the leaves of autumn, only to return the next year,
To haunt the minds of peoples beyond, and coat their lips
A golden hue. Shall I tarry any longer in pen and paper?