Having a parent with no sight,
And at a young age, you'll know your own way home.
To guide and to see,
Your life would soon be,
And your life getting less and less bright.
Friends making jokes,
About the non-seeing folks,
And you sit in your seat, in tears.
Trying to lend you a hand,
They just don't understand,
That the pain comes from words they spoke.
Though instead, think of whose life must suffer,
Images growing much rougher,
And they can't see their child's own face.
With bumped and bruised knees,
From such, normally, avoidable injuries,
Their skin and bones simply tougher.
The colors of anything, even the color of your eye,
Or maybe those boring old birds in the sky,
Your parent can't experience at all.
While you partially hope the trait isn't genetic,
Your heart is feeling quite sympathetic,
For the one you love, who suffers, never having hurt a fly.
And then....that's when you ask, why?