A Lover's Vision
A mettle rusted, made with custom stale,
My talent’s sheen with circulation’s passed;
A faultless ace in one’s own face may fail,
So truth in beauty, beauty truth are cast.
A work upon a hundredth scan grows old,
And each successive glance does dim the gleam;
My words, gems precious wrought, are costly sold,
Once sharp, now blunt; my eyes false diamonds deem.
But in this view, I’m happily reminded
That through your pictured lens I’m tempered fresh;
Your iris heralds me to me unblinded,
A rainbow filter smelting steeling mesh.
This old sword’s new when in your gaze I’m eyed:
All else, say else; know not no naught they’ve lied.
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