Truth is one of those many-splendoured Ladies,
That do the tongues of Men rarely Grace,
And as such might act the coquette,
And deign to hide her wondrous Face.

Many may say that her face 'tis scarred,
Dependent on he (or she?) that sees,
And her loving Gaze does bless us all,
Each seeing just as they please.

But I pray thou seest as I do,
That Lady Truth hath one description,
Not relying on fancies from the Blue,
Through Fact and not through Fiction.

Now take four Arbitary viewers,
And let them tell their Story,
Such is the case with simpletons,
That Truth gives way to Glory.

"Such wonder I had ever seen," said One,
"A man did disappear!"
"Nay," said the Second, "You saw a Mirage,
I saw him plain and clear."

"He wore a Pointy hat hiding Pointy ears,"
Says the Third, remembering at last,
"No, Pointy shoes and Pointy feet,"
Retorted the Fourth, as fast.

In which dear scene doth Truth reside,
Her veiled beauty disguised,
In many places and many faces,
Is an impossibilty Arised.

But as is the case with these four (poor?) Fools,
That we can find Compromise,
That Giving Nymph of subtle touch,
Can a Solution yet devise.

Truth is one description that fits,
All the TRUEST parts,
And if thou wouldst believe any one,
I'll sell you all my farts.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Glacian, in the year 378 AF.