What has happened,
To your pearlescent glow?
Your beautifully white couleur
Has dulled to a dirty, tarnish one.

Filled with the leftovers winds blow.
Yet day after day
You rise again to defeat the say:
That others are plotting against you.

To rid themselves of you,
Though we shall never know who
Would want that to pass.

The circular disk of light
Moon so bright.

Has left me behind
In a deep murky brine
That swallows me whole
And seeps into clothes.

Leaving me with a foul odour
That can neither be washed
Nor burned away.