Perfection Poem by Samuel Greenberg

The summit where I sat flowed a tide
Below a hill, that of pure green water
Filled the lowly place refresHing air
that weaved the heaven's blue - naught
to say, sharp luminous light in blowing
ABnormal holy masses of unsettled dew
Proud to withhold an earth of lovly quality
Like their own as messenger of thousand
Rainbows entangled to regulate, the inner Hue
When perfectly deceived of, its placid, unspoted
Surface, seems never to have been
Cleared, when facing its downward course
Upon our inocent weak dimed speck like
Stains, called eyes of this focus so wide and unseen