The Color Of A Touch

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Duplication is not permitted without prior authorization from Jennifer Miller
Copyright © 2006 Jennifer Miller. All Rights Reserved.

Beneath the barren tree she sat, her head was hanging low,
I saw her as I crossed the bridge, and went to say hello.
I sat down right beside her, and gazed upon a frown,
May I ask if you are troubled?  Has something got you down?

She didn’t turn to look at me, her eyes gazed straight ahead.
Into the fog that gathered there beside that river bed.
Before she said one word to me, she reached out for my hand,
With hesitance I offered, and her story then began.

Her plight had been a sad one, as she talked of her disease,
And how it took her eyesight, and I listened with unease.
This had been her favorite spot, she’d rested here for years,
Her visions now just memories, I fought to stop my tears.

I sat with her on water’s edge, for hours she'd convey,
The stories of her life with me, until the sky turned gray.
Now as the sun was setting, and I knew that I should leave,
She sighed and said I understand, Be here again next week?

And so we met there every week, we never missed a one,
And soon one season ended and another had begun.
I looked forward to our meetings, and each story that she told,
But I had to tell her something, my heart could not withhold.

Stares from those that passed us by her eyes could not perceive,
But my heart had grown too heavy, no purpose to mislead.
The color of my skin, I said, has caused some folks to stare,
And that I haven’t told you this has caused me great despair.

Without a moment’s hesitance, she turned to face my way,
And I never will forget the words she shared with me that day
My eyes cannot behold you, but I need no eyes for such,
How blind are they that cannot see there's no color of a touch.