They threw the tree and the ‘Tree that Grows in Brooklyn' catches it, so gets to take it home to make her family's Christmas, and I cry.
Liz Murray goes from Homeless to Harvard through her own pluck, and I cry.
It doesn't take much any more and I don't know why.
Scrappy the cat comes back on Christmas day after
being lost in a blizzard for a month (for real), and I cry.
Dad wrote me about how lonely he was once and sent me his collection of real Indian head dimes along with the note, and I cry;
Not about his gesture, but just now thinking about that kind, simple, good man.
There is something that feels good about a real good cry.
Love and compassion should rule over anger and hatred every time. When they do, I cry.
Sometimes the weak and the defenseless win and when they do, I cry.
Now, ......my cry is nothing more than from the wilderness and when that is all it is, I cry.
But, someday my cry will be heard.