My stick helps to guide me along,

In the distance I hear a faint bird song.

My senses are exquisite but one.

I feel the warn summer sun.

I touch most writing, if not read.

I smell the sweetness of the bakers’ bread.

My pet labrador shadows my pain.

I taste the fear of going insane.

People are unseen but not unloved.

I see nothing, a curse from above.

My dog helps to guide me about.

I feel the liquid from the water spout.

I’ve always had four, but I do not care.

At the dazzling sea I usually stare,

To sooth my tearing, weakening heart,

And smell the delicious apple tart.

I taste the fear of being hated.

As I hear nothing because I am ill-fated.

x By Bethany x

(This is a poem about disadvantaged children - please post comments) x