The Eyes

 

The eyes are the windows on the soul

they are like two open watery bowls

In their depths they can conceal all

but without a murmur or word they can call

 

Sadness is protrayed in their gaze

as if some veneer comes to over glaze

Joy lightens up their gift of sight

with forcefulness comes their shrewdness of might

 

When the heart is in grief the eyes cry their tears

in old age they display the advancing years

In love and passion they have an ardour of intent

and promising faithfully never to relent

 

In shock and surprise they nearly pop out

and when the tongue is held in check, they try to shout

They can so easily express disdain

and in times of suffering hold their pain

 

No other part of the body is so open

and to the soul the eyes do beckon

No matter what their colour or size

they are deep pools that allow us inside