Little Things

By Wilbur D. Nesbit

I see them all about me now, the little things undone-
The wagon that I promised to "fix so it would run":
The doll, the drum, the trumpet, are scattered here and there;
I promised I would mend them when I had time to spare.

And he - he was so patient; more so than I could be,
Nor minded when I tumbled the trinkets from my knee
But went out softly singing, as do blithe little boys,
To wondrous make believing with all his broken toys.

I call him in a whisper that trembles with a sigh;
I call him in a whisper - but wait for no reply;
And then as at an altar before the toys I bow,
And touch with fumbling fingers - I'm not too busy now.

Ah, now my hands are idle; my heart is idle too,
It does not thrill in cadence with all the laughs I knew.
I count the broken treasures he asked me to make whole,
And count the niggard minutes I gave him as his dole.

But shall I leave them broken, these toys that still are his,
And he must hear my whisper in what fair place he is:
"I wonder if in heaven they will not let me do
The little things - the little things I did not do for you!"