Blind on the left eye and blind on the right eye;
But I see the world without an eye sight;
I see that the sky is up so high;
I see that dark is the night;
And I see you even when you think you’re a spy.
Eyes blind, ears aren’t deaf to sounds;
But powerful is my handy-sight that it tells me the conditionings of the grounds;
With its tapping touches swaying to the left and right sides;
And that sight is the whitecane that guides;
In the rhythmic movements of my matching strides.
O guide-cane, white bodied, rope-glued to the hand;
So is your identity but mistaken for a wand;
Your left-right swaying and your forward probing on the land;
Unravel its topography for me to understand;
So I don’t suddenly crash into the muddiness of sand.
O, my dear white coloured cane;
With your left-right-forward taps;
You help me swerve many mishaps;
To me you’re just more than a cane;
You’re a white super guide-cane;
Come rain come shine, you’ll remain that whitecane!
Let the whole world know that’s your name!
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