If I paint a stroke for every cloud
On the canvas of yesterday’s mind;
A trail of tears that spans the years
Is the river of sadness I find.

. 

I follow the trail back to yesteryear
Where past hurts are washed to the shore
They wallow in abject nakedness
And shrivel my soul to its core.

. 

To the left, if I look, grows a delicate rose
And its perfume draws my gaze
I recall a sweet drop of tranquility
In the midst of some querulous maze

. 

A dewdrop of recognition leads
To a nugget of sweet success,
Beyond is a pearl of wondrous joy
And a helping hand in distress.

. 

The brushstrokes connect on this alternate trail,
and wander from now to my youth;
That pearls gleam as surely as glistening tears
I recognize now as truth

. 

My canvas is full of both pearls and tears,
And the brushstrokes my mem’ry replays
Will draw me the path that tomorrow takes;
To rest, or to cloudy days.