Blind Man's Buff
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 cruel, I admit it and
Regret the very day,
The first time we invited young
Immanuel to play,
He was Russian, and had come to live
From halfway round the earth,
He was always labelled ‘It' because
He'd been stone blind from birth.
His father, Andropovski was
An evil looking man,
But he'd fled before the Communists
Had come to rule the land,
He'd been in the Palace Guard, had
Given service to the Csar,
While the Bolsheviks had gathered,
He'd deserted, travelled far.
Immanuel was only nine
A stranger to the street,
He was not allowed to play with us
The urchins in bare feet,
But his father was a woodsman and
Away most every day,
So we gathered round his window,
Asked Immanuel to play.
We'd lead him out and spin him round
And say, ‘You're it! ' and stuff,
And he'd shriek and laugh and stagger
As we played our Blind Man's Buff,
But he very rarely caught us
We were far too quick for him,
‘Til his father, Andropovski,
Kicked our butts and took him in.
After that he stayed inside or
Came to sit out on the porch,
And he'd listen to us playing
We'd indulge in different sports,
Then he took a knife and whittled
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poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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