1 Cor. 13:1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
"A penny for your thoughts," he said,
As she remained distant and unsmiling.
"My thoughts aren't worth that much," she said,
And found him greasy and reviling.
Retreating to another world, she dreamed and wondered whether
Hid within the pages of some old or mystic book,
There was hope or mention or promise of something better -
A love to last forever.
He spoke again and praised her pretty face and eyes,
And brought her crashing back from hope and wonder land,
To here and now and him.
He was very nice and trying very hard, and no more lost than she,
But he wanted her to be the answer,
And she knew she wasn't, nor was he.
It occurred to her they both were looking,
And the significance made her tremble and accept him,
Wishing she could help him.
"My thoughts are worth a bit," she said,
And smiled and felt free.
Rumours of unfailing love had not escaped her, she realized,
Though she'd been too occupied with her right and capable
And above all independent self
To notice or take heed.
Indeed, she'd been a symbol of independent living,
But it was a clanging and stupid symbol to her now.
Capability was less becoming than humility,
And though she'd proven herself right
To everyone who mattered,
This too was a clanging symbol,
And she wanted to seek relief and mercy
From someone who had never mattered.
Looking at him again,
She saw the symbol of incertitude and longing,
And heard the clanging in his misspent words of love.
Praying to God for the first time ever,
She said only, "Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Forgive me for my wrong."
The resounding gong and clanging stopped,
And there was wonderful silence for her.
Taken from a post on A form of sound words