What brings a tear of joy to your eye?
What summons the silver drop upon my cheek?
Not sorrow—
but a music older than time itself.
The laughter of children,
woven like bells through the wind,
calls me back to the sacred garden
where innocence first bloomed.
Their voices—
like flutes carved from starlight—
rise and fall in playful streams,
and I, the listener,
become both river and shore.
They run toward me,
not away,
their small hands reaching,
their eyes—mirrors of wonder—
choosing me, again and again.
And in that choosing,
a door opens
to eternity’s embrace:
I know that love is endless,
and that time, though fleeting,
cannot unravel this golden thread.
So the tear comes—
a holy jewel,
a testament to joy so deep
it spills beyond words,
born of laughter,
born of love,
born of them.
The Writings of Felina Silver 
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