They say it is a gift to watch the sport of life

play by play in perfect precision.

Let them have twenty of twenty

five of five.

They ever so laissez faire.

You call me handicap, disabled.

Yet I see more:

my ear, my nose, my hand, my tongue

tell me more than sight alone.

While others walk and judge by eye and say:

"Tis a lowly bakery."

I hear an orchestra of a crackling hearth.

The fragrance of fresh buttery cream and sweet dough.

I feel

the warmth of a creator's passion.

My mouth

moistens at the lures:

Pannetone, cannolis, French crust bread,

lobster claws, Babkas, cheesecakes...

They only watch through shallow pools

while I dive the Fathoms with delight.

They who say I am handicapped,

Blind Fools.