God's Gift Of Tears

A lot is lost—losses unheard, But she has saved a price-less thing— A stream of tears easy that spring From pain wreaked by this wanton world; A lot is salvaged, things nigh weird— Power and puff and put-on prestige, High walls to hold women in siege By the man of the same vain world, His gains garnered at a grave cost— For, lost he's gift of God— to cry— Great boon to make heart breathe light nigh, But tearless has he stiffened frost. And yet man's such a brittle cake, He needs woman's bosom to bake. ________________________________________________ Sonnets | 16.08.14 |