All dark, not a beam of light
Old and weak, beautiful grey hair
She crawled her feet
With faith and care
In the night. Eternally
Slowly, gently
Strong but sick
For her walking stick
That was the mission
She was old
She was bold
With no sight
But a vision
I used to wonder as a young girl what a blind person saw when they would dream. For many years I kept thinking about that, hoping in their dreams there was glorious beauty, if not of sight, at least with all the other senses the heart knows. Your poem reminded m of that....and I still have not the answer....PEACE
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I used to wonder as a young girl what a blind person saw when they would dream. For many years I kept thinking about that, hoping in their dreams there was glorious beauty, if not of sight, at least with all the other senses the heart knows. Your poem reminded m of that....and I still have not the answer....PEACE