A Blind Child

Her baby brother laughed last night,
The blind child asked her mother why;
It was the light that caught his eye.
Would she might laugh to see that light!

The presence of a stiffened corse
Is sad enough; but, to my mind,
The presence of a child that's blind,
In a green garden, is far worse.

She felt my cloth — for worldly place;
She felt my face — if I was good;
My face lost more than half its blood,
For fear her hand would wrongly trace.

We're in the garden, where are bees
And flowers, and birds, and butterflies;
One greedy fledgling runs and cries
For all the food his parent sees!

I see them all: flowers of all kind,
The sheep and cattle on the leas;
The houses up the hills, the trees —
But I am dumb, for she is blind.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.