Morte. The Golem.

Morte the Golem,
Had a problem,
His eyes, would slowly,
Fill with tears,
Leaving him blinded,
And lost in fear.

He would stumble,
Through the dark,
Moan and grumble,
While all the while,
It was plain and stark,
For all to see,
The tears would start,
Because of she.

She stood, fair and dark,
While all the while,
It was plain and stark,
She laughed and sparkled,
While poor Morte stumbled,
Through the dark.

"Her eyes are like jewels!"
People would say,
While all the while,
Poor Morte mewled,
Like a kitten lost,
In the park.

Round and round,
Poor Morte stumbled,
Before he fell,
Upon the ground.
He rubbed and rubbed!
But still was blinded,
While all the while,
She had no mind to,
Rescue him from his plight!

Oblivious she was,
As to what Morte was,
She did not see the clay,
Or the tears,
That would spoil his day.

For clay and tears,
Together make,
An awful mess,
Thats hard to take.