He of the wise eyes.


 It was a silent rainy night,
Captured in the wisdom of his sight
And the knowing reflection of his glasses
Clouded by the misty rain beyond his window.

And in that secret monsoon glow,
The spirits of the magical world laid low
Waiting for when he would lay his pen on the table
And shut those wise eyes, so they could spin a dreamy fable.

And while the rain bid goodbye to the night,
In his dreams, their pitter-patter footsteps still saw light
In his dreams, it was a perfect world
Where life's inequities were still to be unfurled.

When morning came, silence reigned just the same
As timeless as the stillness in his eyes
A stillness known not to the worldly but the wise
And those who remember a time, when all was noble and nice.