Life — so beautiful, and yet so fraught with tears,
I have not asked the easy way.
As I’ve gone down the road of years
You have not heard me say,
Spare me distress, or pain, or fears.
I’ve only asked to keep for mine
A few rare things;
The beauty of a rose, the shadow of a tree, and stars that
shine;
The plane of light that darkens on a small bird’s wings;
The stormy race of water down gray fingers of the rain;
The still sweet hush of evening as it closes on the plain;
To laugh with friends, and hold them dear.
To love a child, and know its clear
Look of abiding trust.
These things I ask, somehow, because I must.
But Life, I could have used so well
The greater gift you have in store;
That you’ll not loan, nor barter for, nor sell.
(Be quiet, be still, you cannot ask for more).