THE WELL AND THE TREE

'The Man that I praise,' Cries out the empty well, 'Lives all his days Where a hand on the bell Can call the milch-cows To the comfortable door of his house. Who but an idiot would praise Dry stones in a well?' 'The Man that I praise,' Cries out the leafless tree, 'Has married and stays By an old hearth, and he On naught has set store But children and dogs on the floor. Who but an idiot would praise A withered tree?'