Dont try to dry my golden tears

 
As I sat before the doctor, the expectation of bad news fell like thunder drops of rain, so unfair the inner shudder like the chiller door left open, was this the ultimate aria of the opera, the heroine falling into the arms of her lover still besotted yet condemned.
The physician looking at the test results and declaring "it seems to be positive". the years of questions the unwanted sympathy that hangs on one like a web of guilt. it now seemed to float just beyond comprehension. Some trick, a distortion hiding behind what was always tomorrow expectations, always turning up at other showers as the years ticked, inexorably on,
I started to blubber the doctor proffered his hanky. I accepted it with a shaky "thank you" I dried the tears of joy as the black mascara soaked into the fabric, the darkness ebbed from night to dawns gold.
Better than any lottery win! some sort of stigmata, a union with the angels of conception, barren before, fields sown but never fertilised now the seed had potency, running sprouting new life.
A gilded signpost towards motherhood, tears who`s racks bore the carats of pure joy.