It is not what you look at
That matters
It is what you see
I was thinking about Thoreau
As we strolled around
The backstreets of Margate
To my great surprise
There had been pockets
Of complete silence
This was quite evident
On the sand flats
Between the sea and the beach
I supposed that if I had been born blind
That I would not have witnessed
The vibrant colours and the special light
But I would have tasted the air
And felt the dry warmth of the sun
On my soft and beautiful skin