If , as I live, I could become
Immune to beauty's call
And never be affected
By a lovely rose at all;
If I could watch a sunset
And not become inspired
Nor by a burning bush
That autumn flame has fired,
Or have a friend to play me false
And never shed a tear,
And to another friend in pain
I'd turned a deafened ear;
I'm sure, then, I'd suffer less
If all of this were so;
But, if it were, I'd just as well
Have died long years ago.
-- Daisy Moore Bynum --
I found this poem while looking through one of my mothers little poem books!
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