Everyone they have their issues
That is why we all carry tissues.
They are in our visors or in our purse
Or on a bedroom table ready to disperse.
They are ready to wipe away a tear
Or to remove makeup, so it won’t adhere.
To catch a cold or to clean a nose
And sometimes to clean the clothes.
To us they are a great moral support
They become our thoughts and our consort.
Sometimes all we need is just a good blow
Then with our life, we continue to go.
Randy L. McClave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem