"What is color?" asks the child,
Ignorant yet of the ways of the world.
"A reflection of light," says the scientist, ever clinical,
Ever accurate.
But is the scientist right?
When asked the meaning of color, I say
It is an expression, a symbol of a part of life
Seen by many but not all,
Not those cursed few who cannot see
The meaning that color gives an object.
The child has its answer,
But I do not have mine.
Sir Scientist, is color really
Merely a reflection?
Surely a thing so basic
Yet so unfathomable
Could hardly be something so simple,
Could it?
I ask of the world,
Have you an answer?
I ask of you,
Have you an answer?
But I do not ask of the scientist,
For he is blinder
Than those few cursed ones
Who do not see color at all.
But I do not have mine.
Sir Scientist, is color really
Merely a reflection?
Surely a thing so basic
Yet so unfathomable
Could hardly be something so simple,
Could it?
I ask of the world,
Have you an answer?
I ask of you,
Have you an answer?
But I do not ask of the scientist,
For he is blinder
Than those few cursed ones
Who do not see color at all.
