The Blind Man

Within a corner of this windowed room
He sits, and seldom speaks, and seldom
moves.
Forever left within eternal gloom,
He thinks of those he left, and those he loves.
The clouds were his, the colours of the day,
The purple mists, the deepest shades of blue,
The yellow flames, the stars, the milky way,
And smiles and frowns, and stretching moon-
light too.
He knew the sun upon the eastern sea,
And watched it set behind a western hill.
He saw the depth of waters, - space, - the free
Ascent of birds. All these he knew until
The bursting shell. And now, as life is long,
He sits alone, and whistles some old song.

by Leon Gellert

Other poems of LEON GELLERT (81)

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