Father Robert Lost His Glasses

Now he can't see clearly,

The words, they make no sense,

And the world, a dark blur.

 

Odd shapes,

And heightened senses,

He hears the silent whispers he never heard before.

 

Opticians appointment,

He turns up late, and yet

They order replacements.

 

Back home,

Realisation

Father Robert had his glasses with him all along.

The End

94 comments about this poem Feed