Provenance of a Very Short Poem

I have divided the world into camps
Camp A: Those who like my poems
Camp B: Those who dislike my poems.

"But then one could like some and not
others, could they not?" a friend says, looking at me
with merriest blue eyes. "Camp C?"

"No," I say, "There is no Camp C." If one likes
only one poem, such a person is in Camp A. "But", she
says "I may like a poem, but not the whole thing"

"Well then, only love a stanza," I say. And she says,
tasting a piece of cake, "There is such a poem.
I like a stanza, but not all of it."

She has a crumb on her cheek. I say,
"You have a crumb on your cheek." She dabs it
with a tissue. I say, "Only love a line." And she says,

"I do rather like a line, but not all the words"
"Do you love a word?" I ask. And she says,
"Yes, there is a word I rather like. But not

all of it, only a syllable. The word is 'beautiful.'
Is it all right to only love a syllable? I love the
sound of 'yeau.' " And I say, "Yes, yes, ok."

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