Fluff

As elegant canopies of cute flowers Begin to pale into less natural hues, Eyes wildly wander for better sights Under the old heavens' banal blues. As the sun's rigor sinks in the west, Score for dimmer stars hits its best; Dull Moon is at last by men adored, With none by his lower shine bored. For want of simpler paths more used To the common limb’s ordinary tread, Most wayfarers do quite often blunder: In easier roads lie worse pitfalls fused! Thump not your vainglorious chest If bereft souls swelling praises give; For the sun’s regal orb might in zest Pop and say lesser kings shan’t live! Blowers of vain own-blasted trumpets, Will halt to hear more tuneful nuggets!