On the busiest of days,
even prettiest of faces,
can sulk into nothingness.

Where is the smile
she used to have,
at the time when it all started.

Reassurance is gone,
And so is self-belief,
I might ask, 'what you did?'

Look back, you would find a way,
look back, if you want,
for pearls often are left behind.

During those hurried hours
of the flight to well-being,
when you race past everything,

Surging on like unceasing greed,
you outstrip your own noble deeds;
look back,
for pearls often are left behind.