Why do we grudge our sweets so to the living <br />Who, God knows, find at best too much of gall, <br />And then with generous, open hands kneel, giving <br />Unto the dead our all? <br />Why do we pierce the warm hearts, sin or sorrow, <br />With idle jests, or scorn, or cruel sneers, <br />And when it cannot know, on some to-morrow, <br />Speak of its woe through tears? <br />What do the dead care, for the tender token— <br />The love, the praise, the floral offerings? <br />But palpitating, living hearts are broken <br />For want of just these things.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mockery-9/
