“Old man, what are you doing?” I asked
somewhat impetuously.
“You sit and stare out that window all day.
Tell me, what can a blind man see?”
“My eyes haven’t always been blind.” he said
“They were once as sharp as they are green...
And though it’s true they no longer function.
My mind remembers what they’ve seen.”
“Here at the window I feel the sun and the cold...
I hear the wind and the rain...
I let them stir my memories...
and it’s as if I can see again.”
“I remember seeing birds of every color,
seeing stars shoot across that sky...
seeing ladybugs land on my finger,
watching the flight of a butterfly.”
“I’ve watched the sun rise and paint the morning
I’ve seen it bid adieu
I’ve watched the leaves of an old oak tree
drip with morning dew.”
“I’ve watched a summer shower.
I’ve seen the wind blow through the trees
I’ve watched the garden flowers
be frequented by the bees.”
“What can a blind man see? you ask
Son, let me give you some advice...
One doesn’t need his eyes,” he smiled
“To look back on paradise.”
“That’s why I stare out this window all day
Even though my eyes have failed me?
Because within my mind...
inside my heart…
there’s so much I can see.”
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