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