They are like mirrored glass,
Reflecting back to me what is true,
Seeing not what will come to pass,
But facing it through and through.

Mine look to yours with admiration,
Like a sculptor at his marble, chipped,
A silent din of determination.
Like a slave on his knees being whipped.

The eyes have it and it is all,
The fury, the judgement, the pride,
They see the rise, the peak, the fall
And through it all they cried.

The eyes have it and it is done,
The setting sun between the hills,
They see it all and all is one
The hunt, the capture, the ****.