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.