I have a good friend
Who is covered with shame
Should she meet with a bird
And not know its full name.
And a plant in a pasture,
To me but a weed,
Is a miracle to her
From seedling to seed.
A “worm” on a stem
She must capture to see,
Through its series of changes,
Which moth it will be.
So her whole zest in living
Beside such as I
Is a thousand times greater
From How, What and Why
I once found her amusing,
But not any more,
For she is the sane one,
And I am the bore.
by Ray Romine Monday, January 26, 1953
