Woman With Sorrow

I see the one who stands beneath the shaded tree, and fixedly watches the ripples on a stream till the dusk of day has fallen, and nature pulls its darkened curtain across the colored heavens. I see the one who sits upon the cypress breast, and with her slender finger touches the earth, and from her heart creates the thoughts embedding her with sadness. Then with another finger yet, the gently brushes from the earth the thoughts she had transmitted upon the reddened clay. As is to say, “I’ll keep the secrets of my sorrows with nature’s heart alone.” From her cheeks she wipes away the stinging tears, which fill her limpid eyes and form the wetting pearls. They never die, they never fade, but renew themselves each time she thinks upon her sorrows. When the day had died and sun has sunken from the western mount, she gazes at the distant hills with all their beauty abound she sees with painful sigh. Yes, I know the one who shares her every sorrow with nature’s understanding heart, for this is where her strength will grow to meet tomorrow’s trial.