Yesterday lunch-time I went for a walk round town and I met such a beautiful sight.
She must have been six or seven, curly hair flying as she grasped hold of her grandfather's hand. She was skipping so joyfully as she raced up the hill. The smile on her face said it all. The joy and innocence of youth! The love of her grandfather beside!
And the tap, tap, tap, tap of her white stick as she danced and skipped. She was blind. But she could see...
I wonder how many others who walked that same street could see as well as her.
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