I envy that section
Of the masses
That sees without
The aid of glasses.
More than I envy
A Sultan his harem
I envy him
Who doesn’t wear’em.
Sadder than he
Whose days are numbered
Is he whose nose
Is thus encumbered.
But happy is
The Doctor who
Hangs the blessed
Things on you.
And that’s not all
He hangs, you bet:
He hangs you for
The glass you get.
Unloved, and I
Should think unkissed,
Who ends up an
Optometrist!
by Ray Romine Friday, February 23, 1945
