I hope there'll be no vision,
Of a hasty word I've said,
That has left a trail of sorrow,
Like a whip welt sore and red.

And I hope my old age dreaming,
Will bring back no bitter scene,
Of a time when I was selfish,
Or a time when I was mean.

When I'm getting old and feeble,
And I'm far along life's way,
I don't want to sit regretting,
Any bygone yesterday.

I am painting now the picture,
That I'll want someday to see,
I am filling in a canvas,
That will soon come back to me.

Though nothing great is on it,
And though nothing there is fine,
I shall want to look it over,
When I'm old, and call it mine.

So I do not dare to leave it,
While the paint is warm and wet,
With a single thing upon it,
That I later will regret.
Author: Unknown

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Gentle Spirit