I had been troubled
That an old friend was mad at me
For my slowness to do as promised
And adding to my procrastination
About important matters,
In my delay, I had hoped alternately
That he his silence had been
Simply because he was busy—
And then again that he must be mad—
And at length, an ill wind had blown
Into my heart about it by this morning,
And settled there notably stronger than usual
Until I called at last and discovered that
He had simply been busy,
And everything is as it has always been.
And while in my relief
I cannot account for why my mood
Should have turned so dark over it today,
I am reminded that some live
Always under such a dark cloud,
Ever tormented with such condemnation—
Whether they are right about it or not,
And never daring to face it.
And this is sadder still.
