I Regret…
Beds not made,
and dusty sills,
the washing-up and
headache pills.
The harshest words
for smallest ills -
like huff and puff
on trundled hills.
The words not spoke,
the things undone
from plans not won,
and songs unsung.
The wasted time
like chastened sand
that falls on hands,
or clutched sunshine,
and two-few smiles
not feared of miles.
And all of the above,
is not enough.