Grumbling People

 Sometimes you can see the Grumbling People

Not by their words so much as what they hide:

Ever an eye to what others do that doesn't please,

An ongoing wish, unfulfilled: 'If only...'

Ideas spill out in demeanor and pursed lips. 

"If everyone did things my way..." 

And so hidden grumblings 

Tense shoulders, harden countenance.

The laugh lines in old faces

Of those whose grumblings petered out long ago

Speak of serene calm 

Acceptance, mirth, a welcoming of all that is.

Imperfections abound, 

The banality of grumbling

Becomes so commonplace

I can taste it like boiled potatoes on a hot summer day.

The erosion of discontent does not smooth jagged lines

As shards soften by waves of the sea.

Whining souls only further fragment 

Providing prickles for tender hearts to sustain.

Grumbling people exist in our world:

It is for us - those who see them, those who love them,

To cushion with beauty, To soften with grace,

To welcome the grumblers and open hospitable space.

And listen with the kind softness 

Of a loyal lap-dog,

If only to spare the world of one more

Disapproving stare.

Us who eschew the grumbling within our souls,

Let us be the Gilead balm of refreshing water,

Pouring out from the overflow of that fountain of youth -

Whose supply is young and fresh as the morning dew.