He sat on a corner in a synthesis of dreams
Singing notes as clear as the looking glass
Softness etched a face of a man with class
Would he touch God in the clouds that pass?
Blind at birth to wander inside out
Visions of life sculpted only by touch
Never to complain of his fate and such
Tho frozen in darkness, he imaged much
The breeze spoke to him in gentle quiet ways
As it caressed his face with a kiss
The smell of a rose, a velvet petal of bliss
His own private sanctum in a world amiss
Opening the darkness to a prism aglow
With every smile of a brand new day
The view from within a magic array
Of rose colored visions without dismay
