There was no rhyme nor reason to whatever he did,
he was deaf, dumb and blind, and bedridden as well,
but he lay near a window, and when the mood struck him,
he would often draw symbols in the wintertime frost.
Elaborate they were, he was born with the soul,
of an artist trapped in a flesh cage of no mercy,
and one day after etching a fine work of beauty,
a passing photographer saw the scratches and gasped.
With various exposures he shot many fine pictures,
that developed as a poster that quickly sold millions,
it made all women weep, it made all warriors humble,
and children who saw it, swore they'd all live in peace.
Thus a man with no senses, brought sense to the masses
though he never was told of the greatness he'd wrought,
fame and fortune eluded this heap of flesh bundled,
near a window to a world he would ultimately save.
