To torment and sting us.




THIS AFTERNOON


This afternoon, an angry heart and crude
Consoled himself with an unkindly deed.
Within his soul was hate like garden weed,
That choked the buds and bulbs. In childish feud,
His glee, like noisy urchins brash and rude,
Who trample flowers, pay no thoughtful heed.
The careless acts bring harm and pain with speed.
And sin-scarred hearts deceive themselves, delude
No one. Such souls will have few friends at last.
When life is hard, no one will bear his care
Unless a kindly one, who looks about
To help, to pull and clear. The field is vast!
O weary man! Unhappy world! "Unfair
Is life" men say, "The whole is full of doubt."




SHE RETURNED IT


She borrowed a lump of sugar