My eyes can trace the next steps
carefully caress the footprints
As they're within several feet
and at the distance
My vision can't be beat.

But the steps seem to travel further
Wuthering winds blow dust over them
and my vision becomes blurry
I'll lose sight of them soon
If I don't hurry.

Myopia is so commonplace
Commenting on its existence
seems silly to me
But I'm a slave to my glasses
Without them, I can't really see.