Yet for me It is rare.
I wonder about this imbalance,
It's absence is almost a nightmare.
Looking for It doesn't help,
Trying to get It is equally useless.
The heart lets out a short yelp,
And abhors the bleakness.
All I have is moist eyes,
A core with a weak crust.
A soul you could easily despise,
A mind no one would like to trust.
I am like a glass empty,
Not even a solitary drop.
I am dry and oh so bleary,
To my rescue came a teardrop.
It's so much within me,
Yet I look for It from beyond.
It's absence is eerie,
It came and feared, only to abscond.
Without It, my life seemed aimless,
Simple and bare.
I know why It is precious,
They give It to only to those they care.
Wish I could accept and give,
Wish someone could share and take.
With It our life could be festive,
It would set our soul awake.