The Sin of Omission

By Margaret E. Sangster

 

It isn’t the thing you do, dear

It’s the thing you leave undone

That gives you a bit of heartache

At the setting of the sun.

The tender work forgotten,

The letter you did not write,

The flowers you did not send, dear,

Are your haunting ghosts at night.

 

The stone you might have lifted

Out of a brother’s way;

The bit of heart-some counsel

You were hurried too much to say;

The loving touch of the hand, dear,

The gentle, winning tone

Which you had no time nor 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, reproacful 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 thing you do, dear,

It’s the thing you leave undone

That gives you a bit of heartache

At the setting of the sun.

 

This is a poem that I memorized this month. I typed it out from memory, and then checked it. I actually did pretty well. 🙂 I only left out some puctuation and an “a”. This poem is a good reminder to do those “Little acts of kindness”.

Pastoral

Memories of  Michigan

I remember

Crackling bonfires,
Cozy campouts,
Marshmallows and songs,
Eggs and toast cooked on the fire,
Eaten outdoors.

 

Long walks down country roads,
Running through fields of stubble,
Eating almost ripe mulberries,

I remember 
A huge, brown workhorse,

So close, we were scared!

 

Picking blueberries,
Talking, laughing, sweating

I remember
Plopping some in buckets,

The rest in our mouths.
Deliciously sweet. 

 

Wild apples and pears,
Cool shady woods,
Swinging on a rope-and-pillow swing,

I remember
Chopping young, dead trees down,
Crash. Watch out!

 

Midnight talks of long ago,
Laughing, and more laughing, 
I remember

Talking about the old days,

When we lived in Colorado,
And were naughty little children.

 

I remember

Sleeping in Ben’s cabin,
Just us four girls,
Being silly, scaring ourselves,
And how the big boys
Stuck an annoying rooster inside!

 

At the Beach of Lake Michigan,
Swimming, (and freezing),
A warm, blazing fire,
The sweet, “traditional” watermelon,

I remember
Sitting on my Papa’s lap.

 

Leaving a day late,
Packing slowly, like snails,
Singing together one last time,
Finally saying farewell,
Eyes overflowing once we left

I remember.

Elegy

Here is another poem. This is the one I previously worked on.

Elegy for Rose

 

Sweet smelling,

Gorgeous,

Enchanting

I reach

And pluck

Ouch!

 

Now in water

In the center

Of our table

Petals the color of

Peaches and cream.

Wow.

 

Eating pancakes,

I notice

A change-

The rose is blushing!

Red petals tinged

With purple.

 

My friend

And I

Sip mint tea.

“Oh! How lovely.

A purple rose.”

I spy a hint of darkness.

 

Dusting the oak table,

I glance up

Rose is

Brown.

I pick up the petals

That have fallen.

 

Our table

Is bare,

Colorless.

Only memories

Of beauty

Remain.

Villanelle

I’ve been working on a Villanelle (a type of poem)- here is the rough draft:

 

 

Green!

 

‘Twas the first color I knew,

That glorious color of green,

My favorite since I was two.

 

Of this grand hue,

I’ve been quite keen,

‘Twas the first color I knew.

 

It looks so pretty on you,

The best color I’ve seen,

My favorite since I was two.

 

A green meadow- oh, what a view!

My eyes delight in such a scene.

‘Twas the first color I knew.

 

And through the years, as I grew,

It still remains, at age eighteen-

My favorite since I was two.

 

What I tell you is true-

Really, quite routine,

‘Twas the first color I knew,

My favorite since I was two.

 

 

 This is by far the most complicated poem I’ve attempted. I know a very nice lady named Carol Mahler who is doing a sort of email correspondence course with me. We have been doing poetry for several years. We both take quite awhile to respond, so it usually takes a few months for each poem. 🙂 I think I’ll post some more of the poems we’ve done.

 

 

Count that Day Lost

If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard,
One glance most kind
That fell like sunshine where it went —
Then you may count that day well spent.

 

But if, through all the livelong day,
You’ve cheered no heart, by yea or nay —
If, through it all
You’ve nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face–
No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost —
Then count that day as worse than lost.

 

George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans)

 

This is a poem I will be memorizing this month! Good, Isn’t it?

Nature

Outside my back door,
You surround me–
Grass pressed under my feet,
Birdsong on the air,
Perfume of wildflowers dancing,
A stream giggles past,
My hand rests on tree bark.

Outside the van window,
I see you again–
Sun slipping away,
Trees rushing past,
Birds in a line,
Pink and gold clouds,
Lengthening shadows.

Everywhere I look,
I discover you–
Hiding in a city park,
Sheltering me in a forest,
Sleeping in a campground,
Hurrying on a river,
Once again, you greet me.

–Carissa