If I should ever lose my sight,
what would I do if I couldn’t write
all the things I must write about,
things of which I have my doubt?
Could I hold this pen in my hand
and let it lead, take command?
Even though channeled, I could always see.
Now I would need it read to me.
And who would want that tedious chore
and all because I could see no more?
Please with thy mighty countenance
take away my desire to sing and dance.
Take away my ability to feel the heat
that is with me in every heartbeat.
Or take away my sense of smell
but my sight, no. That’s a living hell.
If I should ever lose my sight,
what would I do if I couldn’t write?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem