It Isn’t the Thing You Do, Dear
It isn’t the things you do, dear
It’s the things you leave undone,
That gives you the bitter heartache
At the setting of the sun;
The tender word unspoken,
The letter you did not write,
The flower you might have sent, dear
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted
Out of your brother’s way,
The bit of heartfelt counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand dear,
The gentle and winsome tone,
That you had no time or thought for,
With troubles enough of your own.
These little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind,
These chances to be angels,
Which even mortals find.
They come in nights of silence,
To take away the grief,
When hope is faint and feeble,
And a drought has stopped belief.
A life is all too short, dear,
And sorrow is all too great,
To allow our slow compassion
That tarries until too late.
And its not the thing you do, dear,
Its the thing you leave undone,
That gives you the bitter heartache,
At the setting sun.
Leave a comment below to share your thoughts on the subject. If you think
others would appreciate reading this, please share it through the social media
You can find my August Inspire a Fire post here. Please stop by and read it.
I wish you well.
Please sign up to receive posts every Tuesday and Thursday. Thanks.