Uncle's Defence Of Eyes Poem by Christian Muller

Oh nephew keep your sight. I shall not rob
You of the little treasure you have left.
I will not sapphires curse. It be their job
To dine upon the feasts of life, bereft
Of guilt for what foul beauty dares to haunt.
You make a better painter than a prince.
Your eye for wondrous landscape eas'ly taunts,
Your empty eye for battlefields. But since
Your eyes and mine no longer purple shine.
What matters if we see or not? What need
Have common men for sight? Does beauty feed
Our peasant guts? Do eyes so much refine
Our rotten grub? Oh no! So watch my boy for one
Last time as noble prince, and Rome's last breathing son!