The Small Sweet Boons

I read this poem in an old Arizona Highways magazine from 1980, and I melted a little.

Dim are his eyes who cannot see

First bud birth on a desert tree,

Nor notice in the morning sun

A spider's gossamer new-spun.

Dull are his ears who cannot hear

The softness of a walking deer,

Nor sense in the subtly changing tune

Of crickets in late afternoon.

Deprived of his primevil right

Is he who misses brief delight

In small boons of nature's giving

That serves to temper human living.

-S. Omar Barker