When The Laughter Dies Poem by Thomas Case

When the sadness strikes like
a match to my soul,
and living is drudgery,
and my pulse slows to 49
because the thought of
life beyond the pink
horizon calms me tremendously,
I think of our laughter together;
our churning, choking laughter,
and I smile through my
pain for a second or two,
then I gaze through the
venetian blinds at the gray
sky and the sycamore trees and
the daffodils in the distance,
and none of them are
laughing.For they know that
laughter always dies.
The heart trys to hold on,
but loses every time.