Tis her eyes that I remember —
Intense as sun upon the frost,
Intent in spite of all they’d lost,
Invested in their task

They smouldered like an ember —
And there she sat, her table lade
With baubles bright and trinkets made,
Her face a stoic mask

Her fingers moved like grains of sand
Let loose within an hourglass bell,
And nimble as each grain that fell
They harnessed beads with thread

Her needle flickered as each strand
Stretched forwards like an uncoiled spring
To form a pretty Dragon wing
Beneath a Dragon head

And whilst she toiled, I read the card
That lay amongst her trinket faire —
“I am blind” — The words hung there
Heedless to my approach

Unseeing eyes wore no regard
For awe impaled upon my face,
As on she went to stitch and lace
Her pretty Dragon brooch.