My Words

My Words

I have spoken, in my life,
A hundred million words.
Most of them flew easily,
Like flocks of graceful birds.

Some of them were way too rough
And some were far too smooth.
Some of them weren’t honest
While others spoke my truth.

I have written, in my life,
Five hundred thousand more.
Some were funny, some were sad,
And some I’m sorry for.

But good or bad, the words I’ve used
Sprang from a fragile heart.
Some revealed a restless soul,
Just searching for his part.

But whether lovely, whether low,
I was never at a loss.
Words have kept my wings aloft
And have also been my cross.

But all this time, you need to know,
I’ve never felt above you.
My aim with all the words I’ve used
Was to say how much I love you.

  • Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 65-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don’t deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather’s blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.

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