I asked the little boy who cannot see

I asked the little boy who cannot see

I asked the little boy who cannot see,
‘And what is colour like?’
‘Why blue,’ said he
You can hear in the rain drops plopping onto the ground,
Red smells like a strawberry fresh from the garden,
The warm sun as it shines on my face is a beautiful yellow,
And purple is smelling a beautiful flower,
Green is like hearing the trees go swish
White is the wind blowing through me,
And brown; squishy mud when it raining.

Viola