Sight

BY the lamplit stall I loitered, feasting my eyes

On colours ripe and rich for the heart’s desire—

Tomatoes, redder than Krakatoa’s fire,

Oranges like old sunsets over Tyre,

And apples golden-green as the glades of Paradise.

And as I lingered, lost in divine delight,

My heart thanked God for the goodly gift of sight

And all youth’s lively senses keen and quick…

When suddenly, behind me in the night,

I heard the tapping of a blind man’s stick.