IT IS SPLENDOR THAT ALL EYES PERCEIVE

It is splendor that all eyes perceive,

And open lovable arms to receive.

Pure tender hearts cease not to believe,

That history serves only for comic relief.

But antiquity seeks to again live,

Her kin refusing the rank of a bereave.

Struck a deal to make her stopover brief,

Only to now seem to never want to leave.

All eyes yet behold the finery of Eve,

Noticing not her wearing out weave,

Observing all but her delightful grieve,

Subtle ears picking not a wave of her heave.

In lowness of dusk, all go on nature’s leave,

But snooping explorers draw nigh to cleave,

Repulsively devouring the prize of a thief,

Yet at dawn, it is splendor all eyes perceive.