Franklin P. Adams (15 November 1881 – 23 March 1960 / Chicago, Illinois)

Shall I, lying in a grot,
Die because the day is hot?
Or declare I can't endure
Such a torrid temperature?
Be it hotter than the flames
South Gehenna Junction claims,
If it be not so to me,
What care I how hot it be?

Shall I say I love the town
Praised by Robinson and Browne?
Shall I say, 'In summer heat
Old Manhattan can't be beat?'
Be it luring as a bar,
Or my neighbour's motor-car,
If I think it is pazziz
What care I how fine it is?

Shall I prate of rural joys
Far from civic smoke and noise?
Shall I, like the others, drool
'But the nights are always cool?'
If I hate to rise at six
Shall I praise the suburbs? Nix!
If the country's not for me,
What care I how good it be?

Town or country, cool or hot,
Differs nothing, matters not;
For to quote that Roman cuss,
Why dispute 'de gustibus?'
If to this or that one should
Take a fancy, it is good.
If these rhymes look good to me,
What care I how bad they be?