Trifles

Trifles.
223.9

You little thought the word you lightly spoke
Would sear the heart of one you called your friend,
And through long days cause him to writhe and bend
In voiceless agony beneath its yoke.

You did not know that half-contemptuous smile
Would wend a tottering faith far down the height,
And hide from him that inner myatie light
That leads a struggling soul from durance vile.

You deemed a thought hid deep within your breast
Was all your own, and none would ever know
Its secret presence in your life, when, lo,
It stands revealed a monstrous, bidden guest.
-Theresa Richmond