If I were a blind man with eyes as dark as night,
I could still see your beauty as my soul felt your delight.
With my eyes I see the surface,
a beauty so sweet and fair
but it’s with my soul that I can find
the wondrous treasures there.
We’ve never met yet still I feel
your hands so soft and warm,
once again I am filled with courage,
your touch heals my raging storm.
Count it strange that inspiration comes
as spirits touch in flight,
once again my flame is kindled
and the whole world feels so right.
There are grander things that lift ones soul
with beauty and majesty and might.
Yet the gentle touch of an angel’s soft wing
gives strength as all is made right.
It’s with the heart that one sees rightly,
what’s essential is hidden from our eyes.
Masked behind such a pretty face
a muse hides in disguise.
This gentle nature has power and grace,
my hand strains to refrain from prose.
A lady fair with a spirit so rare
a blind man can tell she’s a rose.
The gentle feel and fragrance of its petals
the strength of its stem helps it stand.
I hope someday we can meet and play
and if lucky she’ll hold my hand.
