Oh, how I miss my sense of smell
I never realised quite how much
it contributed to my life
along with sight, sound, taste, and touch.
I took for granted those aromas
wafting past my nose each day
that gilded all the other senses
completed them in such a way
that memory could quickly draw on
if that scent should reappear
and conjure up the complete picture,
whether it was foul or dear.
The strange thing is, I can't recall
exactly how a smell should be.
I know the scent of fresh cut grass
but the memory is eluding me.
So many things now I can't savour
far too numerous to list
a few have changed, but most are missing
they've said farewell, but never kissed.
Today I walked the local lanes
the verge and hedgerow in full bloom
with meadowsweet and honey suckle,
dog-rose, poppy, privet, broom.
All these flowers heaven-scented
this I know from years before.
but it fills my heart with sadness
I can't smell them any more.
So now, I look, and look much deeper
than I would in times now gone
colours more intense, and brighter,
my retinae alight upon.
I've heard it said that loss of one sense
often would the brain provoke
to hone the other senses keener,
give them all a lusty poke.
It seems it's true, for all this Spring
I've noticed that my ageing sight
has taken on a bold new palette
painted life with colours bright.
I stand astonished at the visions
that every day assail my eyes
with shades of green that number thousands
and endless white-puffed, cyan skies.