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Bit of a Tear
If I had only one small tear,
I'd drop it from a distance dear,
Of prostate elevation upon the bed,
Not standing upright and proud instead.
For if never having one before,
Slip with compassion unto the floor,
I'd simply let roll unto the pillow,
Because I'd surely not have known the willow.
I ask what use be someone who has not known,
A mourning or an emotional show,
Who has not raised or lowered the head,
In tribute to the lost or dead.
And had not ever let it all go,
That as above there be below,
With a heartfelt struggle, dropped quite low,
With the strength and grace of the broad willow.
So I shall have just one more weep,
For paupers, peasants, the lost and freaks,
As it is not them that find life cheap,
Nor do their lot with an effort to cheat.
Knowing struggle, emnity or strife,
They have firmly taken life,
With all the things that they hold dear,
It is not them that deserve the tear.
So left I'll be by the race,
That travels at a furious pace,
And when they ask me what I know,
"How sorry life be without sorrow."
