Deal gently with us, ye who read!
Our largest hope is unfulfilled --
The promise still outruns the deed
The tower, but not the spire, we build.
Our whitest pearl we never find;
Our ripest fruit we never reach;
The flowering moments of the mind
Drop half their petals in our speech.
I like this little poem; I think God gives us a vision in our souls
of who and what we can be, and most of us (maybe all) fail to realize that vision.
The last line grabbed me the most.
Photo by Jeff Lieberman