When thy words shalt scar a heart

All words,
Flocks here, flocks there,
Are like little birds,
That take to the air.

They cannot forever,
Be loft the ground,
But reach another,
By sight or sound.

Some can caress.
Some can peck.
Some give happiness.
Some can wreck.

But when you find,
Your 'self' forlorn,
And pricking in your mind,
Lies that little thorn,

"Thou now knowest,
Cause of where the thorn art,
Thou now surely hast,
Scarred a heart."