[Martin Elster]

Here is the poem again with the last three lines revised in accordance with Zita's suggestions.

Shall I compare you to the undepressed?
You kvetch about the lightest drizzling rain
as if each drop were equal to the strain
of being stung by an entire nest
of hornets. It appears you don’t feel blest
by birds or blossoms. There must be a chain
binding the serotonin in your brain,
unmoved by stars, by love, and all the rest
that give the undepressed an utter blast.
Were you a violet, you would surely wilt
from a single drop of sunlight in a day.
Your moans will smash the fragile thing we’ve built
between us, all the warmth. So best get past
this limitation — let us sing — a lay!