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The Hasty Heart
by
J. Byron Dean
Close to my bosom I kept my love
And shared it with not a soul.
Casual acquaintances I did not make
I'd never venture to be so bold!
And if you'd ask me the question
of what meant most to me.
I'd tell you that I valued most
my own sweet privacy!
I took no delight in idle chat
or idle words 'bout this or that
and kept my pride 'neath my
Highlander's hat.
I called no man friend
and he did like with me.
I lived with only sorrow
and his companion, misery.
I wouldn't let them know
the pain I held inside.
I wouldn't take their friendship
no matter how they tried.
But true friends keep on trying,
gently nudging without prying,
they read between the lines
and don't listen to my lieing.
'Cause for every man they'll come a day
that's the end of where he'd start.
And he'll want friends surrounding him
when the time comes to depart.
And if he turns his back on them,
running fast as a fleeting dart,
then he'll learn the true meaning of
"sorrow's born from a hasty heart ... "
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