THE BALLAD OF THE BEGGAR AND HIS BLIND CHILD.

Twas in the year of eighteen hundred and nine
When his wife passed away and left behind
A precious daughter, but who was born blind.
They were poor and lived in a miserable shack
Near where two roads met and a very dirty stream.
One joy filled the beggars heart, his daughter could dream
And never know how bad things were around the home.
Stained walls and broken wood, things she’d never see.

He told her that their home was grand, pictures on the wall,
Pretty lace curtains on the windows, shiny wooden stairs.
He painted a pretty picture of a waterfall, a garden fair,
For her blind eyes would never see the filth that was there.
He loved his little daughter, begged to get her food to eat.
Sometimes he did quite well, then they had an extra treat.
He told her tales of her mother, who died to give her life
Lying in a wonderful bed, with sheets as soft as silk.

She grew up to be beautiful, always thinking a lady she’d be,
One day someone would marry her and keep her in the luxury
That she had been used to, all the things she’d had
Would always be her’s for ever, she would never be poor.
Her father grew older but managed to keep up the lie
That made his daughter so happy, and would till he die.
She would never know she was a beggars child, a nobody.
She’d always be a lady in his eyes and in her own mind too

One day he came home ill and his daughter went for help,
She put on her best dress and bonnet and went to town.
She told someone her father was sick, he was lying down,
Could someone come and help him? They lived not far away.
While she was gone, her father burnt the house to the ground,
All went up in a cloud of smoke, people all came running around.
But it was all too late, the shack had burned and was gone.
Gone, nothing left of a fathers kind lie to fill a child with hope.


She sat on the grass and cried by the smoldering ash,
All that she loved and owned were gone in a flash.
Where would she go? And what could she do?
Gone was her home, gone her riches and father too.
Nothing was left of her happy past but memories true.
She looked so lovely sitting there tears on her face,
A picture of beauty and womanhood, full of grace.
She felt so lonely there, she did not know what to do.

An elderly man saw her sitting there, all sad and forlorn,
Her sightless eyes glistening with sorrow filled tears.
He spoke to her so kindly, that it wiped away her fears
‘Come my child, live with us, my wife, my son and me.
We have no daughter for she died as a child you see.’
She lifted her head, gave him a smile that melted his heart
This girl so pretty, with sightless eyes bejeweled with tears.
She felt for his outstretched hand and was at peace.

‘Does it have a garden with a pretty fence and bright flowers?’
‘Does it have lace curtains and long shiny wooden stairs?’
‘It does my child and much more anything you want it to be.’
He raised her up and led her to a great big home, a sight to see,
It had so many things she had always been used to she thought
That nothing was strange to her as she settled to play her part
To make this home a happy place, like the one she’d left
In the ashes and rubble, there secret to be always kept.

She wed the son of the kind man, who took her home that day
When she sat on the grass near where the ashes of her home lay,
They lived quite well, though she could not see the beauty,
The beauty of the things around, but they were in her mind.
The childhood she had was wonderful, she was not really blind
To the things that really matter, true love and a heart that’s kind.
Everyday she remembered her father, the grand home they had
And hoped the one she had now was worthy of her past





Many people wondered where this grand blind lady did come,
For no one could remember a grand home near stream and dam.
There used to be a filthy shack with the walls falling down,
Where the stream was dirty and smelly and dark brown.
Where was the garden and waterfall and the mansion fair?
It must be farther down the road, lost now somewhere.
Yet no one ever questioned that she was a lady true.
For no one could be like that unless their blood was blue.


M Ann Margetson March 16 1998 ©
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