In a storm of sounds and siblings,
Underneath a silver moon,
She crawled over glistening grains
Towards the broth that would swallow her.
In a whirlwind symphony of color, she thrived.
Blades stroking in cycles towards home,
Where to hundreds of souls, she would give life;
Their mother forever unknown.
In her old age and wisdom,
She was draped by wrinkles and items obscure.
An abode that was no longer hers,
Yet still on her shoulders she bore its weight.
And at her final resting place,
She lay strewn at last;
To where she had crawled for eternity –
A landscape littered with trash.