Incapability

There once was a young lad who loved greatly
the color crimson.
Red as roses and rosy cheeks,
apples on weekends, Jonagold and
particularly Paulas.
The mark left from old ladies' lipstick
on the edge of glass--
the sort of thing he would find
at his favorite ice cream shop.
And what could top
sundae with a cherry?
The dashing dog that greeted him
each day in front of
The redbarns blushing deep in the summer
sun singing his skin
into a most wonderful ruddy.
A lone balloon
at the weekend fair dances,
smiling, looking for
a companion,
but he could not see his beloved friend,
for red was all he knew not,
except for the occasional oddly green.
Our young sir, born blind from color
never saw his true love, and when he did,
he knew it not, for he was but a boy,
frightened and so foreign to such great things.