There’s a spot.
An insect in my eye.
A nibbling fly
to scratch across the lens
and in its glee
molest my sight
half blind.
The cheeky beast secrets away
the hearty beams of raging sun,
the thrum of lively hearts,
vigoured smiles and singing hums
that light and clear our tossing rock-
without such warmth,
life’s worth ’s forgot!
Oh, but oh!
You can’t forget my pest!
Its nagging blackened pool of flesh
trickles across my rings of iris blue
to leave me devilled-
baked bare of virtue.
There’s a spot-
and I say “Out damned spot!”
“Out!”
yet my buzzing bliss-breaker
forever stays as sorrow's maker
