Shadows.

I do not laugh
At shadows; they
Are haunting ghosts
Of yesterday.
The cheery rays
Of a friendly smile,
A, frown that hurt
For a little while;
A tired hand pressed
By a friend who could
With that meaning touch
Show she understood;
The matchless beauty
Of a lovely scene,
A dark spot cheered
By a spot of green;
The golden light
Of the morning sun,
The thrill received
From the words, “Well done,”
The overpowering
Force of love
For One who made
Blue skies above.
The yesterdays
Have come and gone,
But their shadows live
Forever on.

J. R. Hastings.