The Blind Boy

The blind boy o, say what is that called light,
Which i must never enjoy.

What are the blessing for the sight,
O, tell your poor blind boy!

You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;

I feel him warm but how can he
Make it day or night?

My day or night myself i make
Whenever i sleep or play;

And could i ever keep awake
With me there is always day.

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