Perfect Magus

Though sapient vision limps short, And digs no eye into nirvana's fort; Albeit most vivid dream’s flips stop, Instinct excels where iffy triers flop. And that sharper divining seer tells Sweeter tales no deft lyricist's bells Ever rung a one bereft of Love's ting, Who jilts fine gold to hear a bird sing. He needs no fumbling eye to behold What yet lies beyond horizons’ fraud, Nor flimsy ear's wit to sweetly divine Blisses and nectarous lickings mine. His are all-espying orbs steeled in hope; Netting honeyed things before here pop Tangible sights for showy ears and eyes To grab and boast and stir belated sighs. Known to him are times of lost rest From lonely stints icily cold at best, Thrills discerned many days before They stir faint ears and eyes below.