Tears

This poem was written by my grandmother, watercolor artist Colleen (MacArthur) Carson, while she was in high school in 1947.  She recently found and gave it to me with permission to share with you. 

If each tear could tell its story, 'twould make the earth's bowels shake.

If each tear could tell its story, 'twould make the mountains quake.

The tear of the mother, giving suck to her newborn babe;

The tear of the battle-worn hero, watching o'er his buddy's grave;

The tear of the young lass, as she tries on her first white gown;

The tear of the little boy, as he watched his playmate drown;

The tear of the old man, remembering days gone by;

If these tears could tell their story, 'twould make the soul cry.

So 'tis best that tears do come and go; their thoughts do not remain.

'Tis best the wind carry the burden, too heavy for the brain.

I see a tear upon your cheek, and I know your pain and grief is deep;

But I'll not ask the reason why those tears do tarry there.

Nor will I ask what each tear means.

I'll only comfort you all the while,

And wait until, again, I see your bright and shining smile.