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

Dylan Thomas

Shall we talk of metaphores?