The blind man appeared rather slow, <br />As through his daily tasks did go. <br />Shuffling tardily, sometimes a stumble, <br />But his senses keen beneath the scumble. <br /> <br />Bent and weary, warily treading, <br />Aware of where he needs to be. <br />Ever walking into darkness, <br />Choosing steps most carefully. <br /> <br />Obstacles, he steers around them. <br />Through tangled webs he weaves his way. <br />Shapes and colours he still remembers, <br />Through day as night, and night as day. <br /> <br />'Take me home', he told the driver, <br />As inside the cab he sat. <br />'Across the bridge, turn right, turn left. <br />I know exactly where we're at'. <br /> <br />Though God his sight did confiscate. <br />His other senses still remain, <br />Heightened now to compensate, <br />Retentivity, the blind man's gain.<br /><br />richard harris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-blind-man-12/
