The Blind man is crying by his door
can't find his key and can't get in
his cat meows and rubs against his legs
he bends down to stroke it in comfort
it hunches it's back with appreciation
not knowing of his masters situation

Nightfall is coming and it's getting cold
the door handle he holds is brittle and old
he descends to sit on his door step
with head in hands he slowly weeps
who will help him with his sad malady
he is a broken man, feels no dignity

Hours pass his memory starts to fade
midnight soon will take his hand
this night will be his lamented last
for when morning does come
he will have his sight again
but no longer will be an old man

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris