White, feathery clouds tarry high above.
It is what lies the crown of which I belove.
When brought together, cries out the empyrean voice.
Washing down the earth by cosmic choice.
White like the purest winter snow,
Exemplary as a seraphic chateau.
Yet blackened by adulteration.
From beauty to beast, a melancholy mutation.
White like the garments of a fair ingenue.
Set at such a magnificent and soothing venue.
Yet, slowly this nymph becomes stained.
Both in body and mind, her love is pained.
Why is white such a splendor?
Why must this beauty surrender?
It is at once grace, but also easily stained.
Why must this purity have its essence drained?
Even with its brilliance, it is helpless from blight.
Even the faint can taint the beauty of white.
It is as if it were deep in the box of Pandora.
Underlying hope hidden by a sullied aura.
Oh, how I wish this dame was free from imbrue.
Free from the contaminated morning dew.
Let her not eat from the fruit of bane.
May absolute purity be saved from this pain.