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.