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Little Things: A Poem


 



Oh humble flower on the way,

You'll not see day again;

My careless tread hath brought thou low,

I've crushed thee; what a sin!



Your life was short enough before,

But now-barely in bloom!

My heedlessness hath crushed thou life!

I brought your death too soon!



But for my clumsy, stomping boot,

You might have lived 'til fall;

Now all the vibrant, color'd leaves

You will not see at all.



How oft, by thoughtless word or deed,

We tread on little things!

Or stomp upon a seed of hope

To which a brother clings!



Our tongues too oft fly loosely,

And sometimes we forget

that nothing is too small to God,

Nor insignificant.



Too wrapped up in our own concerns,

How frequently we smite

The little things upon our way

That pride veils from our sight.


 

  

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