Sometimes I think that I must live without
The slops of words just flow into this downspout.
Sometimes I dream that I must live without
The loathsome things just settle on this hangout.
My nose, mouth… The ineffective stuff.
My fingers would be quite enough
For my escape from this dull jail.
God bless you, monsieur Louis Braille!
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014