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.

The world's not perfect, yet with all its faults
There may still be time for another waltz.



© Kevin Berland, 1999


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