Ode to a Deuteranopic Rainbow

I understand that I cannot know,
seven dancing hews of rain glow.
Roy G Biv wiped across the sky,
friend to all, but yet, not I.

Rods and cones struggle and schism,
a life devoid forever of prism.
Gone from eye but felt in mind,
a disease of vision, 'Color Blind.'

Genetic in nature, bizarre in effect,
unable to capture, light's intersect.
Institution of spectrum dull and faded,
complications internal, chroma jaded.

A joy I'm sure to see those views,
not dim but bright, with reds and blues.
My world of sight to yours is duller,
carried on forever, sans your color.

Yet I do not hate you Mr. Biv,
for what you take you also give.
Unique for me, I'll never show,
I understand what I cannot know.

If we could switch for just one day,
then I would smile and you would say,
"I get it now, why your brown is black,"
then you'll pause, "now let's switch back."