The Blind Man

From the eeriness of an emerald forest

To the tranquility of a silent village,

There lived a blind man

A bizarre man he was

 

Along came another man,

Who would count the stars,

Would feel the trees

And would sit in his little chamber

Whilst the blind man would feed the birds

 

Many days would pass

He would create several volumes

He would fill several jars

And would write in his little chamber

Whilst the blind man would mingle with children

 

A couple years further

He would publish his works

He would host fine dinners

And would boast about his little chamber

Whilst the blind man would polish his only shoes

 

Soon the time came

Where he would grasp his last breath

He would make his final gesture

And pass away in his little chamber

Whilst the blind man would cry incessantly

 

Centuries would pass

His ideas would promote change

His works would foster machinery

And a museum would form of his little chamber

Whilst the blind man would become a mere memory

 

A mystery the blind man was

For he never asked

And he never sought

But would relentlessly saunter happily

Whilst the novel man would franticly search in grief

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