Condensation

I wrote a thing. Opinions?

His hair is white as stainless pages plain,

It flows ‘round glorious visage, fettered not

By earthly pull nor leather thong profane,

And glows, requiring he be ne’er forgot.

His eyes, more wondrous blue than sky so high,

Or robins’ egg, or ocean deep below

Their depths surpassing any mundane sigh

And as they gaze, their pull seems but to grow.

This wand’rer fair has travelled near and far

To bring to pass his visions dear of old

In times long past when evil did not mar

And good had champions many, brave, and bold.

But soon his journey ends, his task complete,

And finished then, his happy end to meet.