by Horatio Nelson Powers
Reprinted from “The Braille Forum,” January 1970.
A flower unblown, a book unread;
A tree with fruit unharvested;
A path untrod, a house whose rooms
Lack yet the heart’s divine perfume;
A landscape whose wide border lies
In silent shade, ‘neath silent skies;
A treasure with its gifts concealed —
This is the year that for you waits
Beyond tomorrow’s mystic gates.