As dew continues to drop,
shiny shimmer upon the pelt,
that rusty white and wretched gray,
is guaranteed to melt away.

Never has one shined so bright,
as to mock the reflection of the sun,
but as the dew continues to drop,
the filth all falls at once.

So what to do on this blurred morning?
Run and play in the moistened greens?
Or should one rejoice in the luster,
of the pelt with its newly found sheen.