For the promises I never made, or kept; for the
friends I wronged, or let down, or lost touch with;
for doors I failed to hold open, grandmothers who
bore their groceries unaided, children who asked
for nothing—a high-five or word of praise;
for the Azaleas I let wither, and saplings orphaned
at the nursery, weeping in their pots; for branches
untrimmed, and unneighborly feuds; for the times
I left dog poop where it lay, and the times I raged
against those who did the same; for my many rages,
justified and not; for unkind thoughts, and deeds,
and turns of phrase, though I knew how kindness could
save a life; for the leak I didn’t fix, the mold that grew,
the money I wasted on this, and whims, and petty wants;
for all that I could have fixed, or built, or torn down;
for when I did too little, or too much, or nothing at all;
for cowardice, and conceit dressed as bravery; for
ill-fitting clothes, and shaggy beard, and ill-timed jokes;
for my belief, or lack of belief, in God, in Democracy, in
this or that war; for the peace I shattered with talking...
