SEETHING WITH ANGER
Seething with anger she ran up the stairs,
She went to bed without saying her prayers,
Tears of anguish wetted her soft pillow,
Yet no remorse did she want to show.
She was the hurt one, others were to blame,
She’d not say she was sorry, she’d be in pain,
But better than ever admitting she was wrong,
They’d come running to her before very long.
Sleep did not easily come that very long night,
No rest for body or mind, but she would fight,
Hold onto her hurt and let no one at all enter in,
She was right it was the others that did the sin.
Her friend called, she stayed cold but polite,
On the telephone was not a good place to fight,
A snub would do that she could then pass along,
But that day not once could she sing a sweet song.
Her heart festered day after heartbreaking day,
But pride would not let her feelings get in the way,
She grew bitter and hard could hardly smile at all,
Yet quite often her old friends would try and give a call.
There came a time when she could not remember the deed
That the anger and the hurt on her heart did always feed.
Was it too late to set things between them right gain?
Could she pick up the phone and talk to them once again.
One had moved out of province another had passed away,
The other one was quite ill and had been sent very far away,
She had left it too late to heal her sore wound so deep,
That night she prayed hard before she went off to sleep.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 28 April 2005