For a spell in my youth I acted independently on the notion
that I only had a certain allotment of words in my life.
So I chose my words carefully and spoke little.
I didn’t want to run out.
Yet when my spouse first said he loved me,
I was silent.
And when my parents were dying,
I had no words.
Recently, on the way down Springer Mountain,
hanging on a branch at a crossroads of the trail,
I saw a single clog, with a note inside: “Sorry!”
If I know what I believe and walk the talk,
there should be no cause for regret.
My conscience would be free and easy.
And yet after all these years
I still listen to Dr. Hook and the Medecine Show
singing Shel Silverstein’s “The Things I Didn’t Say.”
Wow! This is such a powerful poem. I loved it.
Wow…love this.
You spoke, and we listened…….. Grateful for this poem!
Amazing.
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