A Poem

This one's for you, Bean.

Dorothy Parker

(untitled)

How the arrogant iris would wither and fade

  If the soft summer dew never fell.

And the timid arbutus that hides in the shade

  Would no longer make fragrant the dell.

All the silver-flecked fishes would languish and die

  Were it not for the foam-spangled streams,

Little brooks could not flow without rain from the sky,

  Nor a poet get on with his dreams.

If the blossoms refused their pale honey, the bees

  Must in idleness hunger and pine;

While the moss cannot live, when it's torn from the trees,

  Nor the waxen-globed mistletoe twine.

Were it not for the sunshine, the birds wouldn't sing

  And the heavens would never be blue.

But of all nature's works, the most wonderful thing

  Is how well I get on without you.