gusht

Copper shades of brown inevitably must rust, what goes up must come down digusted by wind gust; reality is often grim discarding prayer gusht, should she trust him in eventual ashes & dust; without the sun there's still a moon as in God we trust, rotten apples uneaten are strewn and of bread remains a crust; fishes in water are not drowned inviting mermaid as guest, when water & metal rust found and in baptising we be blest; the wind endeavours to find a mind without as much as having to scout, the peeled orange leaves rind behind in effect out and about.