The Mysterious Orb

One glaring orb,
Battling against the mundane
And the same.
We'll find that glaring orb,
To torch down the grass--
The grass that overhangs too much;
To cut up the bushes--
The bushes that stray too far;
And timber the trees--
The trees that see and saw all.
We'll find that orb,
To burn it all away.

This shining orb of metal and faith,
Reflecting all who near it.
All I see is the ramparts
Of gilded metal that give fleeting riddles.
What is it? This structure o'er here.
To riddles we give questions
That titter and fall.
No one shall know
except artist himself,
and he dares not to tell.

The stand made of wood
Was all that we know.
Created by a pupil's unease,
The hand to hold the globe.
It's purpose is known,
That's all we really know,
Of the stand and it's orb,
Riddles is all we're told.