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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365675" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Blind Man's Buff</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I remember as a child we used to<br>Play out in the square, <br>In the sleepy little village <br>Someone christened Uno Ware, <br>There was never any traffic so<br>Until we'd had enough, <br>With the cruelty of children<br>We'd keep playing Blind Man's Buff.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was cruel, I admit it and<br>Regret the very day, <br>The first time we invited young<br>Immanuel to play, <br>He was Russian, and had come to live<br>From halfway round the earth, <br>He was always labelled ‘It' because<br>He'd been stone blind from birth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His father, Andropovski was<br>An evil looking man, <br>But he'd fled before the Communists<br>Had come to rule the land, <br>He'd been in the Palace Guard, had<br>Given service to the Csar, <br>While the Bolsheviks had gathered, <br>He'd deserted, travelled far.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Immanuel was only nine<br>A stranger to the street, <br>He was not allowed to play with us<br>The urchins in bare feet, <br>But his father was a woodsman and<br>Away most every day, <br>So we gathered round his window, <br>Asked Immanuel to play.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We'd lead him out and spin him round<br>And say, ‘You're it! ' and stuff, <br>And he'd shriek and laugh and stagger<br>As we played our Blind Man's Buff, <br>But he very rarely caught us<br>We were far too quick for him, <br>‘Til his father, Andropovski, <br>Kicked our butts and took him in.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">After that he stayed inside or<br>Came to sit out on the porch, <br>And he'd listen to us playing<br>We'd indulge in different sports, <br>Then he took a knife and whittled<br>Just to pass away the time, <br>And he made the most amazing things<br>For someone who was blind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He'd get a picture in his head<br>Of what he'd never seen, <br>Then he'd whittle and he'd whittle<br>At the substance of his dream, <br>And they gradually got bigger as<br>He grew up in the dark, <br>He would whittle from huge logs<br>Once he had stripped away the bark.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I remember when he whittled<br>A whole lizard from the wood, <br>Well, it looked much like a lizard<br>I would watch him as he stood, <br>And he'd ask me lots of questions<br>About sizes and of shapes, <br>About elephants and zebras<br>About seagulls, terns and apes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I would answer him directly<br>In exacting measurements, <br>Tell him how they moved, of hair and fur<br>Of food, and excrements, <br>I would draw him mental pictures<br>Of the things he'd never seen, <br>As his knife would chip and whittle, <br>And his face would fairly beam.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then one day it just turned nasty<br>When a friend called Henry Goode, <br>Said he'd seen that wooden lizard<br>Snaking off into the wood, <br>So I asked Immanuel, I said: <br>‘I don't know what he's on, <br>But Henry saw your lizard move! '<br>Immanuel said: ‘It's gone! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He never would expand on this, <br>He'd shrug and turn away, <br>But still his knife flashed in the air, <br>Would chip and strip away, <br>Then Mrs. Brown came screaming that<br>She'd been down by the wharf, <br>Had been accosted by some man, <br>She said, ‘A wooden dwarf! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And that was just the start of it<br>A mist came swirling down, <br>So thick we couldn't find our way<br>Both in or out of town, <br>A flying wooden parrot then<br>Knocked off the Parson's hat, <br>And lay there squawking feebly ‘til<br>The Parson stamped on that.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I found Immanuel on the porch<br>And said, ‘Hey, what's the game? '<br>He scowled in my direction, said, <br>‘Don't like it? What a shame! <br>You thought it was good fun to tease, <br>Could never get enough, <br>When I was just the blind kid, ‘It', <br>And playing Blind Man's Buff! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our village faded from the map<br>That mist just kept us there, <br>And people whispered, ‘Where's it gone? <br>That village, you know where! '<br>Immanuel said we'd play again<br>That game we loved the most, <br>But we'd be ‘It', he'd whittled it, <br>Turned loose the Holy Ghost!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Lewis+Paget">David Lewis Paget</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365675" data-title="Blind Man's Buff de David Lewis Paget" data-description="I remember as a child we used to
Play out in the square, 
In the sleepy little village 
Someone christened Uno Ware, 
There was never any traffic so
Until we'd had enough, 
With the cruelty of children
We'd keep playing Blind Man's Buff.

It was c..."></div>
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