I believe, that even protanopic children can see red,
With heart instead of eyes.

I assumed I were a protanopic kid,
And tried to feel the world,
But there was only grey.
Grey peonies, grey berries, grey leaves.
Even my blood was grey.
Life was not life without red,
Without flame without ardor.

But I knew red was there.
Always.

When I made my face juicy with watermelon,
Red was there, beyond my tongue and my palate,
Joyfully dancing.

When I got up early and watched sunrise,
Red was there, hopping like a little bunny,
Chasing away remaining evening.

When winter came,
I walked near a plum blossom in my cotton-padded jacket,
Red was there, blooming,
Because grey will never ever be that animative.

When I sat beside the furnace,
The flame raging gently, almost burned my eyelashes,
Red was there, shining,
Warming the room, warming my heart.

Thank goodness, I can still see red,
Genial like an older sister, agile like a fairy,
Active like a squirrel, powerful like a queen.

As I've said, I believe,
Everyone can feel red,
Even protanopic kids.