My cousin Jim sent me a touching story about a corner panhandler.
Made me think of this poem.
There are songs enough for the hero
who dwells on the heights of fame;
I sing for the disappointed-
for those who have missed their aim.
I sing with a tearful cadence
for the one who stands in the dark,
and knows that his last, best arrow
has bounded back from the mark.
I sing for the breathless runner,
the eager, anxious soul,
who falls with his strength exhausted,
almost in sight of the goal;
For the hearts that break in silence,
with a sorrow all unknown,
for those who need companions,
yet walk their ways alone.
There are songs enough for the lovers
who share love's tender pain,
I sing for the one whose passion
is given all in vain.
For those whose spirit comrades
have missed them on their way,
I sing, with a heart o'flowing,
this minor strain today.
And I know the Solar system
must somewhere keep in space
a prize for that spent runner
who barely lost the race.
For the plan would be imperfect
unless it held some sphere
that paid for the toil and talent
and love that are wasted here.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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3 comments:
The depressing thing about the truth of this is that it is so often true. But I think its true in the sense that you need crap to grow a good garden. Good things grow out of bad things, you just have to hold on to the time factor...even when/or if it may out live you. In creeps that faith thing. As King David said: My times are in your hands.
I wept as I read this. Thank you for posting this poem.
Neue
Forgive this confession, but I watched part (really) of the reality show called "The Average Joe" or something like that. There was a fella voted off last night by the choosing beauty who reminded me of this poem. He had his heart set on winning the love of the girl only to be cast aside in front of the onlooking world.
I think everyone saw it coming but him, although he took it like a man and was appreciative that he found someone, if only for a few days, that stirred his heart, and off he went to find another, hope he finds a great one.
I think life is so filled with moments as illustrated in the poem that we all identify and find it moving; moving too that people care and like you said Eric, good things grow out of bad, but it is especially nice when crawling out of the crap to have "spirit comrades."
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