(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

No One Can Do More

No one can do more.
Than enough of it to do.
Leaving a gratitude to expect it,
Seldom heard to come...
From anyone to accept.
Especially if one is a giver.
And taken for granted whenever they deliver.

No one can do more.
Than enough of it to do.
Like someone quick to be used,
And accustomed to be accessible...
As a pair of old shoes.
Found comfortable to wear.
But not that worn out to still abuse.
Or have this focused upon them to notice.

The ones shown and known to be dependable.
With a caring for others without this to doubt.
Seem last to be thought of...
As having wants and needs.
Since excuses and complaints,
Are never heard to mention...
To hear this coming out from their mouths.

The ones known to be dependable,
With a caring shown to others expressed.
Are often the ones,
More stressed but accused...
Of being envious and jealous.
And doing what they do,
Just for more attention to get.
While attempting to hide,
An agenda of selfishness.
Until that misunderstanding,
Stops being available and on hand to demand.
To eventually leave it understood to comprehend,
Enough of this has reach its limits.
And less to have it noticed,
Is the one who gives.
Discovered to be missing to dismiss,
Shown ignorance to get it.
And refusing to continue,
Giving it assistance.
With time not to be reminded of its waste.

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