Old Mother Star

Old Star wallows in its fading embers, throbbing with its dying energy. Shackled and chained by the ones it fed and raised from the dirt and the earth, a museum piece finally cast aside at the end of her life. A dull hum fills the chamber, pattering over the edge of human perception. She's singing but there's no one to hear tonight but her birds.

She sits alone on her autumn throne in the Republic Museum of Natural History. The Old Star replaced by New Sun, and on the first day of her successors rising she sat in the museum filled with the galaxies wonders and sighed. She's the beating heart of what was Sol, ripped from the core of that bloated husk and replaced with a new, stronger heart. They said that the homeworld took precedence of the course of stellar nature and that she'd be compressed and suspended to rest in the vaults of the museum for all to see and wonder at, to teach the children of a time when it was her soft yellow light that lit the summers of their ancestors.

The Old Man Moon gazes down at his old friend from the vault opening, still spinning strong on his course but inching further and further away. He watched over her children from the heavens while she slept below the horizon and now they are grown the children and he have become friends. Upon him too as well as the Earth they live peacefully.

Old Mother Star weakens year by year but her glow still blesses the visitors who come see her in droves every day.

One day she'll die and her children will mourn her passing.

Some day it will be New Sun sitting in her throne.

The wheel rolls on.