Weathering due to weather’s sting,
Beware weathering due to weather’s sting,
None safe, from weathering due to weather’s sting.

Sings the face of clay,
Some song of old? Or…I don’t know….
But regardless, she hums away.

The tarnished gold, speaks th’ times of old,
When her luster was second to none,
And her silver and pearl, had told the world
The wearer was never out-done

But, gone are the days when she was shown around,
To every eye that could ever be found,
And also donned with excited glee,
To make the wearer that of a deity,

Terrified; She saw her days of luster pass, as all things of beauty cannot last,
She hoped and tried; perhaps she would be an exception
To be dignified; To the rule that stands with never altered perspective,

Powerless; she felt her beauty slip through her fingers,
Hopelessness; It’s not a song she is singing, unease now lingers,
Warning us; All we know will be reduced, by Mother, to cinders,

Her pain now apparent, how couldn’t, before, I see?
She repeats her warning to me,

Weathering due to weather’s sting,
Beware weathering due to weather’s sting,
None safe, from weathering due to weather’s sting.