Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life's Scars

They say the world is round, and yet 
I often think it square, 
So many little hurts we get 
From corners here and there. 
But one great truth in life I've found, 
While journeying to the West- 
The only folks who really wound 
Are those we love the best. 

The man you thoroughly despise 
Can rouse your wrath, 'tis true; 
Annoyance in your heart will rise 
At things mere strangers do; 
But those are only passing ills; 
This rule all lives will prove; 
The rankling wound which aches and thrills 
Is dealt by hands we love. 

The choicest garb, the sweetest grace, 
Are oft to strangers shown; 
The careless mien, the frowning face, 
Are given to our own. 
We flatter those we scarcely know, 
We please the fleeting guest, 
And deal full many a thoughtless blow 
To those who love us best. 

Love does not grow on every tree, 
Nor true hearts yearly bloom. 
Alas for those who only see 
This cut across a tomb! 
But, soon or late, the fact grows plain 
To all through sorrow's test: 
The only folks who give us pain 
Are those we love the best.