I'm no stranger to neither lights going dark
Nor the stormy waters kissing an
Eroded shore
Though foreign to lost ships
Seeking a beacon in which
To give way for their sails
For a siren of folklore

I'm no rose nor a plant of much color
A weed threatens the garden
Hungry tongue and all
Feast upon withered leaves
Swallow even the memories
From when it once bloomed
Leave the ash of its fall

I am a shadow caught off stained glass
A refraction of what once was
Silhouette of a ghost
Not all can see
Or hear or believe
Less I shine moon upon
The coast.