Teardrops of last winter years
Is a graves wine
To a hurting heart.
Each dropped of tears -
Is a cleansing balm
To a broken soul.
Let it dropped - until -
Your soul is healed
From the mires
Of broken dreams.
Tears is a vanquish
Of today’s sorrow
But an appointment
Of tomorrows duty.
Sigh! So cry like a baby
For morrow
Is a fine day.
You’ll forget
All your sorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem