When we hurl cold and thoughtless words
In spiteful greed against their mark
Then we cannot retrieve the hurt
As sorrow snuffs love’s eager spark
The triumph of vengeful retort
Renders vile lesions to the breast
Wounding, not flesh but tender heart
A swift-flung dagger to the chest
And though time and forgiveness heals
We should speak words with utter care
For flesh and blood kindly conceals
The scars that yet may linger there
© Janet Martin
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