by J. Randal Matheny © 2011

Turn the head, and feelings sink,
A thought, a look, a word, a tone,
The slightest sign becomes a stone,
One thought can rush you to the brink.

A worldly pleasure rests on sand,
Lasts but a moment, all too brief;
It quickly turns to weeping grief,
Or fades to trudge a desert land.

The happy heart soon turns to woe,
Finds greater reason for despair;
The soul was made for Heaven’s air,
Too great for smallish joys below.

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