Tell Them You Love Them
By Lydia D. Alder
‘Tis well sometimes to stop amid life’s whirl,
And scan the web and woof of what we weave –
A moment spare to think of those we love –
Take time a tender sentiment to breathe.
How can they know they precious are, and dear,
If love’s assurance never tells them so?
Life’s burdens may be borne through darkest days,
If fragrant flowers along its windings grow.
A friendly spirit quickly is discerned –
if we an eye averted chance to see.
Or glance indifferent as one goes by –
A cold hand seems to clutch us suddenly.
Then let not life a waste or desert be.
Nor wither like to grasses on the sand;
Or fading flowers that droop and quickly die,
For want of moisture from some gentle hand.
‘Tis not that love to us a stranger is,
Or that we spurn its off’rings day by day;
‘Tis that we thoughtless are, forget to speak –
the present absorbed by the far away.
Then wait not till the heart is stilled by death,
The eye is closed and passive lies the hand;
Caresses, useless then, love, though expressed –
Tell them you love them while they understand.