Her mild blue eyes in which there lurked such fun,
Set wide beneath her brow so smooth and white,
Could pick the words from off our lips and know
What we were saying, and ere speech was done
Made her reply, to our amazed delight,
With wit and humour, smilingly and slow.
Though deafness was complete she did not shun,
As many do, the talking; but used sight
To compensate for all sound could not show,
And read our minds ere laughter had begun.
Now can I never see a rambler rose,
A ship at sea, a brook within the hills,
But there is someone who the silence fills
With understanding, for she sees and knows.
Weekly Times 4.3.60