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
Is a fine day.
All your sorrow.
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