Lost vision

It is when the first morning clamour rattle,
A howl, a chirp, a creak or clatter,
The nightlong quietness breaks
and the rose flower fragrance
every morning
seeps through the casement.
Does he ever dream of the unseen world?
perhaps! Of the red rose and marigolds
In the garden he had not seen
Rainbows,snowfalls, stars
and Planes and cars!
He rubs his waking eyes to look
at the purring cat by the pillow,
and the roses-
The daylight rays-
“Am I slumber still?’ thinks he
and the answers in his tears;
‘If these eyes could see;
what a morning it could be.