Myopia's fog, a darkened sight.
The boy, he yearns, to see it clear,
But hazy shapes, his world holds dear.
He squints and strains, a constant fight,
To grasp the distant, bring it to light.
A world of whispers, unseen, unheard,
A longing deep, for every word.
His glasses, a bridge, a fragile hold,
To pierce the veil, the stories told.
But even with them, the world's not right,
A distorted view, in day and night.
He learns to navigate, this blurry space,
To find his way, with measured pace.
And in the shadows, where sight grows dim,
He builds his own world, a world within.
For though his vision may be blurred,
His spirit strong, his dreams unfurred.
Myopia's grip, he'll learn to bear,
With courage strong, and hope to spare.