That scathing word I used in scorn <br />(Though half a century ago) <br />Comes back to me this April morn, <br />Like boomerang to work me woe; <br />Comes back to me with bitter blame <br />(Though apple boughs are blossoming), <br />And oh! the anguish of my shame <br />Is sharper than a serpent's sting! <br /> <br />Age sensitizes us to pain, <br />And when remembrance of some word <br />We spoke in wrath return again, <br />It stab is like a driven sword. . . . <br />And if in some celestial span <br />Our hearts in penitence may bleed <br />For all the hurt we've done to man - <br />Ah, that would be a hell indeed! <br /> <br />So friends, be careful of your words, <br />Though other breasts may meet their steel, <br />Lest they return like vengeful swords, <br />Till yours the wounds that never heal, <br />For Age the heart to mercy mellows; <br />Foul memories haunt like evil elves: <br />let us be gentle to our fellows, <br />And win God's mercy for ourselves.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/remorse-4/
