Ramblings

Tears Born of emotion their destiny I fear, is to well into life then disappear. Joy, sadness, anger, pain, they make no distinctions, no judgments, no blame. One of many they’re too hard to stop. Hearts break or mend on a single drop. They can cheer, they can cleanse, show love, fuel elation, Or help drown a soul in total desolation. They’re always with us, no matter our years. We never grow too old to shed a few tears. © 2001 Guy Workman   The Gift I love to walk the fields at dawn, barefoot through the dew, to sit and watch the rising sun turn the dark sky blue.   Some days are bright with promise, like a budding tree. Some are dark and blow right by like an autumn leaf.   Each day is a gift we're given, fragile, like fine glass, ours to mold and try to hold before it hurries past. © 1999 Guy Workman