The Mole's-Eye View
For years he chose to take a mole's-eye view,
To mine among the rooted deeps and wait
For slow food his long hunger to abate,
Until at last he tired of earth-worm stew.
The daylight burned his eyes; to mitigate
This trouble he would squint and squeeze and strain
His eyelids to avoid the yellow pain
Which nothing but the night could palliate.
He wasn't blind. Dark glasses and a cane
Were affectations after the first day,
When all his summer senses came to stay,
To bask and flourish, prosper and remain.
© Kevin Berland, 1999
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