The rarest art that moves the soul
Beholding that deserving grand
I have such vision, I am such man.
Forsaken eye, which does not see
The fairest frames or curtaining
I’m blinded not for my remiss
But lack of lace and gleaned bodice.
Nor that the fore is all I miss
The dearth it carries on
The eyes tear near to misery
Accoutrements are none to see.
A glimpse of promise from beneath
Reverie inducing, eyes do stare
Proud production, this maiden’s dare
To tease and titillate for that she wears.
Alas I fear the end of days
Whilst I will see no more
Such classic taste, mine lays in waste
The finest creation wrapped up in haste.
For is there the finer of she I saw
I’ll disclose there could never be
Art so divine, mine eyes inclined
Spellbound at her art enshrined!
