A kaleidoscope of colour and as you turn it round
Try as you may to look again you know it cant be found.
The patterns ever changing, right before your eyes.
Before they go Forever, just as though it dies.
Wishing it could keep it, and draw it on a page
Is a memory that I store as I reach this age.
If I could hold it steady there right in my hand,
That myriad of colour could replace the bland.