WHEN CRIES THE HEART
WHO LICKS THE TEAR OUT OF MY EYEFOR EACH TIME I CRY, THERE'S NO TEAR.
MY EYE GOES DRY
BUT THERE'S NO WIPING HAND NEAR.
HOW MANY TIMES DO I CRY
BUT THERE'S NO SEER.
THE DANCE OF THE TEAR
DOWN MY WITHERED FACE,
I DO NOT HEAR.
MAYBE IT KILLS ITSELF OUT OF FEAR
OF THE FALSE SMILE I ALWAYS WEAR.
Poetry by sania
Read 1061 times
Written on 2006-10-19 at 15:58
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