Throughout the show of time,

we read the lines of misery.

Though these are but a single drop,

in the seas of history.

We must look to tommorow,

we'll see how nothing lasts.

Even the seeds of sorrow,

must be planted in the past.

Through yet to cry tears of joy,

happiness has discovered me.

Those horrid wails of saddness,

are pages turned to memories.

So once more to silence,

my pen and hand return.

For joy is that important tool,

that is for what we yearn.