The Workaday Trio

If your nose is close to the grindstone rough
And you hold it down there long enough,
In time you'll say there is no such thing
As brooks that babble, or birds that sing;
These three will all your world compose
Just you - the stone - and your poor old nose.

Yet buds do blossom, and lanes are green,
And woods do lure with an ardor keen,
And leaves are rustling and skies are there,
No matter whether you see or care;
And how can they come, do you suppose,
To you, and the stone, and your poor old nose?

If to go and seek them you still refuse,
It doesn't hurt them - it's you that lose.
For the zephyrs whisper and lovers sigh,
Whatever you doubt, disclaim, deny!
And the world's a rhyme - while you're but prose
Yes, you, and the stone, and your poor old nose.

Berton Braley