an eyeful sore of giddy pleasure what can'st thou assume, i cannot measure for if thine eyes rest on lillies or daisies who's to say they're full of sillies or crazies an eyeful sore of ominous reproach though threadbare and laden with an honest man's toast to cause threatening distance in heel and high femur be'st any reason for the foolish one's misdemeanor an eyeful sore of inquisitive inquiry a pipedream intense of actions so wiry so think to yeself a question with delivery where on earth is there room for idyllic chivalry an eyeful sore of an eyeful blessed a beautfy unimagined and adorned nonetheless i'd rest mine eyes upon such a gilded face an eyeful sore in an ideal place
well thank you i'm thinking that some people won't understand it but eh, that's the beauty of poetry it can be interpreted however
There are so many eyes with which to see, that sometimes the empty socket is the best one to be, as it recieves, oftentimes, and projects through the Tree a blissful awareness of Possibility.
