A picture says a thousand words but what if I were blind?
Would the photo framed and hanging there keep its words confined?
If I were born that way, how would each image be assigned?
Images formed in my mind must certainly be redesigned.
Touch would guide my mind if I were so inclined.
But distant nature’s best can only be aligned
Through the carefully crafted words on an artist’s canvass assigned.
Gently she takes my hand an elixir in demand
And guides me along the path to the very spot behind
Where shutter and lens defined
That very picture consigned.
Earthy smells and craggy ground combined
Lift my mind to distant echoed sounds entwined
To form complex images perhaps unclear to many in their design.
It does not matter because the picture is solely mine.