Cry a little stream of salt for all the things you’ve lost,
Let it’s bitter rivulets quench your weary thirst,
Try and pick the diamonds from the dirt to recompense the cost,
Of nuggets of your best from the detritus of your worst, 
Know that only by mistakes is it that we can find the answers, 
Little glints of light that pick out amongst the gloom, 
And that so called, “Winners,” are just successful chancers, 
Whose pure dogged persistence snatched them from the jaws of doom,
So cry a little stream of salt and relish in it’s flavour, 
Let it’s briny bitterness remind you you’ll survive, 
And part your lips in readiness so that your tongue can savour, 
The taste of your tears, which remind you you’re alive.