Anosmia poem
Sorry to bang on about my neb but I'm still getting lovely, heartfelt letters from people about The Neglected Sense.
A listener sent me this poem, which was written for his grandfather by the poet - and family friend - James Walker in about 1940. Some of Walker's work is online, but I couldn't find this one.
ON A GARDENER WHO HAS LOST HIS SENSE OF SMELL
He does not know the rose's lovelier ghost
That haunts his garden; he can never tell
What season of the year it is
From the predominant smell;
The wall-flower cannot give to him
The warm caress it gives to most
And how for him can sweet-peas be
Their own sweet self? He plays the host,
This gardener, to a hundred foreigners,
And knows not half the languages they boast -
Unless four senses, ardently alive,
Can still remember how there once were five.
