The visitor

Her beauty is a wasted thing,

She's neither sweet nor kind;

And flowers that have no other eyes

Than raindrops soon go blind.

She is a park that has no deer

To give it life or grace;

Until I think the wilderness

A more enchanted place.

Her Ten Commandments are her own,

She knows no other Creed;

The only babies in her eyes

Are selfish thoughts and greed.

Her beauty is a wasted thing,

Is Nature's loss and pain;

When will the little, plain, brown bird

Come back and sing again!