what can be more faithful than a tear
born in the womb of the solitary heart?
fragrant like a mother's lullaby
that gallops to the world of dreams
sorrow is the eternal muse-
the harp that God plays
to nourish the soul of man
in his pursuit of becoming "human"
where does happiness reside
but in the dark corner of disillusion
and when the tear of the night
turns to a dewdrop
the sun rises.
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