Old, Blind, Glorious Poem by Sophia White

His face is a tangle of wrinkles,
But if you follow the crisscrossed lines
You will soon discover a pattern
Like winding roads on a weathered map
That start nowhere and end nowhere
And pass through many strange and exotic places.

His eyes are pale blue with age
And stare at the world through a peaceful film.
You see them and think of the jeweler’s shop
Where there is a glass case
In which two blue daimonds rest,
Isolated from the world, yet so beautiful.

He smiles when he notes you staring,
And you nearly pretend you weren’t looking,
But his smile is so deep
And crinkles the skin around his eyes,
You cannot help but stare a little longer,
Not realizing that you have begun to smile, too.