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Nothing Lasts

The star that burned
Into ashes today
Was once the star
Of his mother's death.

And the same ball of fire,
She had seen
When he was born,
She'd made a wish.

And now that you pick
The stardust lying
On the cold hard ground,
You call it special,
You call it lucky.

But he picks the same
And calls it dirt.

So, what's its name,
In this ephemeral world,
Where identity changes
And names don't last?

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