The tragic artist without your sight,
Should you paint this window in sorrow and pain,
Breathing with life as you turn the world to your light,
Soon there will be nothing left in vain.
Be the face of prospect surely as your blindness tomorrow,
And let the world be kind in your divine favor,
The creations of madmen they watch you grow,
For you have become their unattained flavor.
Paint a window of childish remembrance,
Of lush innocence that may never return,
As it sits on the rock that tempted the ocean wild,
Hidden from the misty gauntlets that savage waters may churn.
Leave alone my walls of your tears dry,
Crumble not your face in its passing agony,
For his victory your beloved neighbor will buy,
Pass through this window quickly into silent secrecy.