Images of Peru
Blind Harpist
Blissful is the word
For the twilight smile
That spreads softly over his round face
Like sun through the Andean haze
Just before dark.
And you do not mind
That he does not look up,
That he smiles
Not at the notes he has made
But at those you have rustled into his cup.
And since whatever eyes he has
Are closed,
He smiles only to himself.
The evening blossoms of bright sound
He plucks with his plump fingers
In the fading light,
Though,
Are for you,
And were before you paid
