One Sense Left

If my hearing did lose
no melody or chord on piano played
nor sonorous tone on clarinet heard
not one jot of scale or note
all flown with the wings of a dove

Oh garden rose in bloom the air
while butterfly blue to nectar bare
my mother's guests toast her fare

Aroma of spaghetti bubbling
dumplings among stew thumping
not cavern fare home sweet home

Capacity to feel and touch i lose
no warm embrace and comfort choose
when sunset on day fair
refreshing breeze over Robson glacier cool
on skin not dare

Light of day i pray
or night with mistress moon beauty blaze
poor boy chime wind or song
now the Beaufort range cast shadows long

Eclipse my dreams were it not
perceive it not breeze alee
mine own good compass steer the seas

For with just this one
I could make believe each and rest
imagination all will free

by Bud Taylor

Comments (1)

The remaining sense is the best sense. A wonderful poem.