For when the sun burns and turns colden, The bright yellow spurns from beauty golden, to a lack of interest for a system relying on light to pour; listen though sound travels less in haste, it makes our bodies bounce.
For when the girl is burned and trounce The bright mind spurned from evening gown to a lack of interest to assist him. He relied on her light to pour; her to listen though sorry travels, lest after distaste, it makes us pronounce.
For when a mistake is burned into history. The stone cold as etched again, and sought. Good will may be borrowed, entrusted, stolen, but rarely bought.
For when a daybreak creeps into horizon. The stones thrown as glass houses brought Goodly upon their foundations, in the naked eyes of all sunspot.
May those coloured fractals of which lurch deftly. Return to shared *****, directly, swiftly. Freshly.