The Blind and His Many Eyes
The blind does his walking,
With his trusted staff a- tapping,
His approach broadcasting,
Measured steps minding,
As his fall is his loathing
The driest on the subject of color,
Unless as a fairy tale,
To not here display valor,
As he ‘d a trillion times fail
Sure to be begging your pardon;
Upon describing Yellow
And completely in London,
As you portray the More Mellow…
Nevertheless equipped with the keener than normal,
Condition-warranted wisdom far from formal,
Fingers expertly feeling one twice
To later fish one out thrice:
Ears magically catching the faintest mumble
From the heady and the humble
And nostrils familiar with the smell of his workers
And body odor of housebreakers.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
