It is dark, now, and grave
This bowl of a world
That rings me round and round
And will not let me marvel enough
At this dull sky
At the ignorance of these men
Who cannot know what chance can do
I shudder
Before this bowl of a world,
At this dull sky.
Will they not, all of them,
Call me names when they hear
Their blind man of this city
Stumbled on an udara underfoot
And lost it in the search for more?
Wish they could see half
What my eyes see, or know
Half what I know!
The Century’s blind man!
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