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Poem

QUEUING THE DOING

Who would care what people write
It’s what they really do that matters
Despite the fancy poetic metaphors
Nor thinking it may give one pause
Fearing one’s words are all in tatters
Actually, it’s self-delusion and trite

Who might care what people think
In deference to those that really do
Private thoughts have little traction
Unless they’re translated into action
Which can achieve a different view
It’s better than a mere nod and wink

Who then can care what people say
Lots of babble, meaning very little
An action speaks louder than a word
Whatever may have been inferred
The spoken word can die in hospital
But if whispered, they just blow away

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