But Little Do Or Can

Kiss Me As If You Made Believe You Were Not Sure This Eve, How My Face, Your Flower, Had Pursed It's Petals Up.

Each Life Unfulfilled, You See; It Hangs Still, Patchy And Scrappy: We Have Not Sighed Deep, Laughed Free, Starved, Feasted, Despaired,—been Happy.

T'was A Thief Said The Last Kind Word To Christ. Christ Took The Kindness And Forgave The Theft.

We Find Great Things Are Made Of Little Things, And Little Things Go Lessening Till At Last Comes God Behind Them.

Such Ever Was Love's Way: To Rise, It Stoops.