Was there a time when dancers with their fiddles

　　In children's circuses could stay their troubles？

　　There was a time they could cry over books，

　　But time has set its maggot on their track.

　　Under the arc of the sky they are unsafe.

　　What's never known is safest in this life.

　　Under the skysigns they who have no arms

　　Have cleanest hands， and， as the heartless ghost

　　Alone's unhurt， so the blind man sees best.