Those We Love the Best

Those We Love the Best

They say this world is round, and yet
I often think it’s square.
So many little hurts we get
From corners here and there.
But one great truth in life I’ve found,
While journeying to the west,
The only folks who really wound
Are those we love the best.



Those you may thoroughly despise
Can rouse your wrath, ’tis true;
Annoyance in your heart will rise
At what mere strangers do;
But those are only passing ills;
This rule all lives will prove:
The rankling wound which aches and thrills
Is dealt by the hands we love.

The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
Are oft to strangers shown;
The careless mien, the frowning face
Are given to our own.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.

Love does not grow on every tree,
Nor true hearts yearly bloom;
Alas for those who only see
This cut across a tomb!
But soon or late the fact grows plain
To all, through sorrow’s test.
The only folks who give us pain
Are those we love the best.

  Author Unknown