Hate

I had a bitter enemy,
His heart to hate he gave,
And when I died he swore that he
Would dance upon my grave;
That he would leap and laugh because
A livid corpse was I,
And that’s the reason why I was
In no great haste to die.

And then – such is the quirk of fate,
One day with joy I read,
Despite his vitalizing hate
My enemy was dead.
Maybe the poison in his heart
Had helped to haste his doom:
He was not spared till I depart
To spit upon my tomb.

The other day I chanced to go
To where he lies alone.
‘Tis easy to forgive a foe
When he is dead and gone. . . .
Poor devil! Now his day is done,
(Though bright it was and brave,)
Yet I am happy there is none
To dance upon my grave

Robert William Service

Run back into their arms
It is widely open
When you are confused
Their words will calm the fumes
When the world turns its back on you
Their open arms will wrap around you
Even when you have erred
You will surely be forgiven
Just like the prodigal son
When you are happy
Their joy becomes full
They are your earthly gods,
Your guardians, your first love,
Your teachers and friends
They will never give up on you, come what may
They are your PARENTS