He wandered at night the streets that might
Be busy, during the day,
The empty squares and the thoroughfares
To search for a come-what-may,
He’d never appear in the light of day
And shrank at a distant shout,
His way was always a lonely way,
Watching the lights go out.

He’d always avoid the gaze of men
Who would stare at him, then die,
Nor would he seek a mirror then,
He was born with a single eye.
His mother took him away at birth
So his father wouldn’t see,
That she had lain with a cyclops once
And then paid the penalty.

She had kept him locked in a cellar, till
He had grown too strong and bold,
He’d strained and torn at his chains until
His jail had failed to hold.
He couldn’t leave in the daylight, for
He had only known the dark,
So left one night in the pale moonlight
And escaped across the park.

He’d roam at night when the stars were bright
For the food and drink he’d need,
Padding the cobbled pavements there
In search of a missing creed.
What was the purpose of his life,
Could he exist alone?
Was there a female Cyclops somewhere
Willing to take him home?

One winter’s night when the time was right
And the streets were damp and drear,
He saw her walking a way ahead
And quaked in a sudden fear.
What if she turned and gazed on him
Drawn in by his single eye,
What if she died? He shook and sighed,
‘If she does, then so will I.’

She heard his footsteps behind her then
So he said, ‘you’re walking late!’
And her reply was a thankful sigh,
‘I can’t find my garden gate.’
He took her arm and they walked along
As she tried describing it,
His heart was full, he could do no wrong
As she tapped with a long white stick.

David Lewis Paget