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Little Things
Fay Inchawn [Welland Tribune October 29, 1931]
One step too far, this way, or that;
A sleepless night;
A headache, oh, some extra cleaning;
A trivial worry, overleaning
A fancied slight;
Such little things as these are fret and tear
The fragile casket that my soul must wear,
Yes; progress in the life of faith is slow.
This makes me wonder why
My body is so easily laid by, why.
When the will seems resolute and straight
Should nerves respond to temper so?
Why do I wish to say the things I hate?
How should wet footmarks or a rug awry
Disturb my peace and put me out of tune?
I marvel that I am removed so soon.
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