The blind man saw no spilling light,

No masked and dancing crowd.

No metal on his doorstep,

No low and misted cloud.

The blind man heard a simple song,

A low unchanging suite.

A murmuring of voices,

A tapping of their feet.

The blind man saw no hopeful wish,

No glinting messy words.

No breaking waking dawn,

No glass boke into thirds.

The blind man felt the spilling oil,

Seeping fast into his door.

The embers of unanswered wish,

Now scattered on the floor.

The blind man saw a blinding light,

A heat against his head.

A crackling sprawling fire,

And the blind man was now-