Today is button day for the special appeal for the blind of Victoria.

"He's blind," we say.  Then turn aside
   Upon our way, again to view
Familiar things - some prospect wide,
   Some olden scene for ever new.
Heedless we pass along, and soon
   The groping figure's out of mind,
Lost in the sunlit afternoon.
   "Poor chap, he's blind."


Slowly he taps along the street,
  Pitch black beneath our smiling skies:
While ours the boon again to greet
   New scenes with ever thoughtless eyes.
Thoughtless indeed if, passing, we
   Grudge thanks for this most precious sense.
He asks of us - not sympathy -
  But recompence.

"Den"
Herald, 27 March 1931, p4