Whose lawn this is I neither know
Nor care, for from his bungalow
He will not see me stooping here
To decorate new-fallen snow.
His window glowing blue, I fear,
Means he will only see and hear
Recordings from some distant site,
Nothing alive and nothing near.
Within his cave of flickering light
On this unique and lovely night
He chooses to be deaf and blind,
Despising its unique delight.
Let’s leave the purblind fool behind,
Emblem of pitiful humankind,
Locked in the prison of his mind,
Locked in the prison of his mind.
