Blind Assistant Poem by James McLain

To her smile..so..
each rose..never fades..
Passers by..stop to gaze..
warmly into..to know..
Each morning...
One street side window..
always full..as..
Vases to shape..
sit with glass hands..
are..
Busy weaving..
the stems of roses..
softly..
The blind assistant..
by touch.. counts..the
Red blooms..
asleep..as they drift down..
While eyes..follow..
One unopened bud..as..it's..
Mixed with tears..awash..
On the ground in kisses..