I am not a place, yet I take you away, To colors of nights that no longer stay. I soften the past with a golden hue, And make old moments feel fresh and true.

Stalwart giant, reaching high, rooted strong in earth, you scrape the sky. From your lofty perch, horizons unfold, tales of height and strength are told , someone was held captive by me for years in a fairytale.

I lived in faith when empires ruled by sword, not prayer. I crossed seas with devotion in hand, bringing hope to distant shores. Today I stand as a name in calendars, churches, and stories of miracles remembered by many lands.

Tip of the one pyramid, an all-seeing eye on American money. Originally from Bavaria, hidden members, coded communiques, meant to prevent abuse of power. Often seen as a hidden group, it sounds like an Italian light fixture to me.

HENRY VIII WAS KINDA CHUBBY, Tom said...