Another pen

“Another pen runs out of ink;
My eyes seem struck with envy
For there’s nothing to stop or kill
The tears that, from them, keep falling.

Streams lead to rivers
That lead down to sea,
And my eyes always did see
Waves made of misery.

There could, perhaps, be worse things,
The sun still rises, the birds still sing,
But there’s a tiredness to seeing
A little too much of everything.

Disappointment, too, comes in waves
And nothing, in the end, really saves
A good heart from breaking
And wise eyes from aching…”

Ana