In Prague, the year was nineteen sixty-one.
A chemist, Otto Wichterle, worked there.
Back then, contact lenses sat on the eye.
But they were hard, and so hard to wear.
His team had made a gel, soft and clear.
He hoped to make soft lenses that way.
Then the money for his lens work stopped.
So he took it home with him one day.
At Christmas, he'd spin lenses with a toy.
His wife, Linda, would help him out, too.
Four little lenses made Christmas bright.
Linda helped Wichterle by lamplight.
Spin a bowl, and water climbs the sides.
His machine spun a drop up the sides.
That curve became a soft contact lens.
It's soft and clear, and it gently bends.
His son's toy building set became a frame.
A motor made its tiny cups spin.
They set it up on the kitchen table.
They let a drop of liquid fall in.
The drop turned into gel as it spun.
He tried a lens himself when it was done.
The strength was wrong, but it felt so good.
By spring, the pair had made thousands more.
Four little lenses made Christmas bright.
Linda helped Wichterle by lamplight.
Spin a bowl, and water climbs the sides.
His machine spun a drop up the sides.
That curve became a soft contact lens.
It's soft and clear, and it gently bends.
Today, soft lenses help someone you know.
A soft lens sits on her fingertip.
She blinks, and she smiles out in the snow.
She sees the snowflakes clearly as they go.
Four little lenses made Christmas bright.
Linda helped Wichterle by lamplight.
Spin a bowl, and water climbs the sides.
His machine spun a drop up the sides.
That curve became a soft contact lens.
It's soft and clear, and it gently bends.
In Prague, the lenses spun at Christmas time.
Wichterle made soft lenses to help you see.
