WHEN RED MIGHT BE GREEN

WHEN RED MIGHT BE GREEN

When my dear sons were babies in arms,
I taught them, as all mothers do.
It was then I discovered, to my great alarm,
They'd not fathom each hue from hue.

This affliction I knew, was in the back of my mind,
For my brother, my Uncle and Grandad,
This condition they suffered, the very same kind,
That most men in our family have had.

They cannot see shades of varying blend,
The reds, blues and browns and the greens.
Colour Blindness is found, mostly in men,
Passed down by their Mother's own genes.

I remember when I was so young, and so chic,
That I teased my poor brother, it's true.
When I asked him what colours of trees he could pick,
He said most abruptly "Spruce Blue".

They know grass is green, 'cause that's what is right,
And it's brown if it crunches 'neath feet.
The sky is called blue and the clouds are called white,
They dance to their own drummer's beat.

They've learned to adapt in such clever ways,
As at traffic lights, I've often seen,
They know when to stop and to go, for they say,
"The red's on the top, bottom's green".

They have an advantage, a point I should raise,
They do not view all things by shade.
Camouflage means so little, they can see through the haze,
For they look at the shapes that are made.

When my boys get together and are jeered at by all,
They sing in one voice, like a choral.
If asked to name colours of paints on a wall,
"We know what they are --They're all floral!".

If one of our senses has been clear forgot,
The others are sharpened, I've read.
My boys have all learned to live with their lot,
And they're very smart kids that I've bred!