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|Place of Dreams
|It isn't the things you do, dear, it's the things you leave undone
Which give you a bit of a heartache at the setting of the sun.
The tender work forgotten, the letter you didn't write,
Flowers you didn't send, dear, are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted out of a brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel you were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear, the gentle, winning tone,
Which you had no time or thought for, with troubles enough of your own.
Those little acts of kindness so easily out of mind,
Those chances to be angels which we poor mortals find,
They come in night and silence, each sad, reproachful wraith,
When hope is faint and flagging, and a chill has fallen on faith.
For life is all too short, dear, and sorrow is all too great,
To suffer our slow compassion that tarries until too late.
And it isn't the things you do, dear, it's the things you leave undone
Which give you a bit of heartache at the setting of the sun.
-- Margaret E. Sangster
|Sometimes someone says something really small, and it just fits
right into an empty place in your heart. -- Author Unknown
|I would prefer to make mistakes in kindness rather
than work miracles in unkindness. -- Mother Teresa
|In the end, only kindness matters. -- Jewel Kilcher